Solace
by QuillMind
Summary: Takes place 5 months after the events of DX:HR; SPOILERS for endgame & Missing Link DLC. Adam is sent to investigate a hidden facility that is rumoured to have ties to White Helix Labs. OC. Mature for violence/language/sex.
1. Sleeping Beauty

So, this is my first piece of fanfiction ever in at LEAST 10 years. I never thought I would write another one, but frankly I find the DE:HR world so appealing (even if the game had many things that annoyed me) that I had to do this. Warning to readers: this is an M rated story with swearing, violence, probably at least some references to drugs/alcohol, and sexual situations. Venture elsewhere if you don't want to read about that stuff.

**Chapter 1: Sleeping Beauty**

"_Man—a being in search of meaning." -Plato_

* * *

><p>High up on the top floor of Sarif Industries' corporate building, Adam Jensen stood in the office of CEO David Sarif. There was a time when the privileged view of Detroit would have given Adam a sense of calm, but lately, it stirred up a sickly discontent.<p>

Five months had passed since Adam made the fateful decision at Panchaea that would impact the world. He could still remember how dizzying the weight of his choice felt even now—reveal the truth about the Illuminati, blame Humanity Front, or present the story of contaminated Neuropozyne as the reason for a global outbreak of insanity among augmented people, or destroy the entire Arctic facility, killing himself and everyone else within to silence the truth?

All four choices were shitty—a person could be smart, but _people_ were dumb, panicky, dangerous animals—announcing that an ancient secret society had been pulling the strings all this time would make the world implode. But Sarif's choice of throwing Taggart under the bus was the sort of cutthroat act befitting a politician or business tycoon, and Adam knew he was neither.

_It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here._

In the end Adam had chosen Bill Taggart's message; Eliza Cassan worked quickly to stop Hugh Darrow's signal broadcast and adjust his video message accordingly, and in moments she was everywhere, announcing the breaking story about the cause for the madness that was plaguing humanity. As rescue crafts made their way to Panchaea and Adam rounded up the survivors, they started to hear the uproar of the masses through every media channel, cries of outrage over what was one of the greatest cases of corporate negligence in history.

_You might be surprised by what people believe. I can convince them._

Eliza was certainly unmatched when it came to spinning the news, but Adam knew it would not be as black-and-white as she made it out to be. Including himself, there were many who had not gotten the new biochip upgrade but still taken Neuropozyne recently; how long would it take before they would realize that they were the only ones unaffected? Darrow's address at the beginning of his speech would also raise more than a few questions. And while such a disaster was a tragedy, it would still not be enough to stop human augmentation research completely. It was like that old song said: "you can't stop progress." People would find a way, regulations or no.

In the weeks following Panchaea, numbers began to flood in. During the biochip chaos, over 560 million people worldwide had died, and over 1 billion sustained injuries. Originally the death toll had been lower, but as the affected people regained their sanity, and realized what they had done—attacking and killing friends, family, coworkers, and strangers—the trauma drove many to suicide. Those that lived were institutionalized or required extensive counselling. VersaLife stock took a nosedive, as did that of Tai Young Medical, lost without their leader, Zhao Yun Ru.

A good number of the injured, however, created a situation that Eliza had not anticipated. Construction workers, doctors, engineers, athletes, artists, teachers, soldiers—some were already augmented, some not, but they both argued that they could not live their lives as they were. Cell phones get hacked and credit card information is stolen constantly, yet they still remain in use because modern society is irrevocably bonded to technology.

A renowned concert pianist named Owen Burton had been crippled by an explosion in London's Piccadilly Circus. Biochip-affected people ran around Maenad-like, screaming desperately and painfully while targeting anyone and anything they could get to. Burton had no time to react when a gas main had blown near him, obliterating his right hand to the elbow and leaving horrible burn scars on his face.

"I don't care if I live with these scars," the musician had declared on the news loud and clear. "When that explosion happened, I didn't even notice the burns on my face. All I saw was that my right hand was gone! The tears started flowing that very instant because right then a part of my identity was taken away from me! If I can't regain the use of my hand, I might as well die right now!"

With such passionate opposition, Taggart found it difficult to put his original plans for stricter regulation on augmentation into action. In the end, a plan was put into place for more in-depth pre-screening for people who wanted to obtain augmentations. The registration process now had extended psych evaluations, and a noticeable increase in fees. It was not ideal for Taggart, but it was a start.

_So what happens now_, Adam found himself asking a lot these days. When he first returned to Detroit from Panchaea, he was still fuming from being tossed around and lied to by everyone. Sarif, Darrow, Taggart, Megan.

_Megan_. The thought of the name alone made Adam's jaw set and eyes narrow, as if he could taste it as something repellent. The last conversation they had had been an ugly mess and gotten them nowhere. Two days later, Megan had disappeared without telling anyone. Adam did not look for her.

He kept himself occupied by helping to control the countless riots that had occurred in the wake of the biochip incident and reinforce security within Sarif Industries. He had not consciously thought about remaining at the company—it just seemed the most sensible option to him. He was a cop once, and old habits die hard; he could not let innocent people suffer if he was able to stop it.

_And when the riots end? When the shitstorm clears? What'll I do then—stay here at Sarif?_ It did not feel likely. Since returning to Detroit he had gotten two new augmentations to further his abilities as a one-man army. Like all the others, his body absorbed them with unnatural ease, thanks to his special DNA. The stuff that was key in Megan's research. Research that she valued over him, over them.

_Special. Just a nicer word for freak._

He glanced at his reflection in the window, darkened by the night sky. Was it already almost a year since that day? When he had been left for dead (Hell, he _was_ dead for a while) and reawakened as a human weapon? Augmented people were not so rare in this day and age, but when they were intimidatingly tall with state of the art military-grade tech and an unmistakeable air of do-not-fuck-with-me, you could not help but turn heads. Sometimes he heard hostile taunts, and on occasion prostitutes made impressed cooing sounds and invitations for a little thrill, but they all went ignored.

Adam could not deny that having the augments he did made his job way easier. He certainly would not have been able to fight the Tyrants and discover the truth about the attack on him as an ordinary man. But his genes were scaring him now. Would he just eventually lose his flesh altogether and become strictly a machine? Could he even still count as human, or alive, in his current state?

Footsteps broke him out of his thoughts. He turned from the window to face Sarif, who walked quickly to stand in front of him.

"Sorry I was late," the older man apologized, "Athene had me held up a bit regarding some meetings."

"What did you want, Sarif?"

As silly as it felt, Sarif still did not like how Adam no longer called him "boss," even if he was still in his employ. There had been some unspoken personal sentiment involved in his security chief's moniker for him. Granted, he had not been completely honest with him, and pushed Megan Reed to go forward with her research despite the fact that it rode on Adam's DNA that she had used without his knowledge. It was only natural that Adam would be pissed at him, but it had all been done for the greater good of humanity! The thought only frustrated him more, knowing that Reed was now gone along with her research.

When Sarif had realized which choice Adam had made, he was absolutely livid. But Sarif was a man who knew there was nothing productive about staying angry for long. The floundering state of TYM meant that Sarif Industries was now practically unchallenged in the field of biotechnology, and the people who wanted augments to recover from their injuries along with those that required non-augmented medical treatment meant business was thriving. He did not take pleasure in profiting off of others' misfortune. Yes, he was running a business, but he also genuinely wanted to provide those in need with the means to live rich, fulfilling lives. Burton's first piano concerto written after he had gotten his prosthetic arm was something that could not be described as anything short of magical. Sarif was no expert on classical music, but even he could hear, as he watched the televised broadcast of the performance, the brilliance in the melody like a whoop for joy of a person made whole again, and he felt his heart swell.

"There's something I want you to look into, Adam."

"Another riot somewhere? Or a factory incident?"

"No, nothing like that; riots are slowing down, and with yours and Pritchard's help, our security's improved enough to be too much of a hassle for two-bit terrorists to want to mess with."

"Then what?"

"You remember a few days ago, when we had that slight power outage? Pritchard traced the source of it back to a location near Toronto. There's something hiding there, and it turns out it's been using a fair amount of power for years. We only found out now because the substation closest to it had been destroyed during the riots, and it rerouted itself to get power from another source—ours."

"Sounds sophisticated, but Toronto's not exactly our territory."

"No, it's not, but there's a reason you'll want to go check this place out. There are rumours that this location has some connection to White Helix Labs."

That got Adam's attention. "What?"

"You heard me. The same company that—"

"I _know_ who they are. I thought there was nothing left of them after the fire."

"They are defunct now, but when Pritchard looked into this location, he found snippets of information that suggest White Helix. Something about how a former employee might have ties to it." Sarif shifted his weight and took a deep breath. _Gotta say this to him right._ "Look, Adam, I know that things are not all peachy between us right now, but I want to fix that. So I'll be honest with you. White Helix's genetic research was supposed to be beyond what any other company was even close to before their lab got burned down. Their company no longer exists, and Pritchard has assured me that no one else knows about this facility but us."

_There it is._ "So you want me to go there and scavenge for any treasure there might be."

Sarif held Adam's gaze. "Yes. Frankly speaking, with Megan and her research gone, we're a little lacking in some new material to work with to solve the problem of glial tissue build-up. But I do mean it when I say that if there is a chance that you can find out anything about your parents, Adam, I would want you to take that chance. You definitely deserve some answers."

Adam's CASIE implant did not detect any lie on Sarif's part, but he studied his face carefully. There was no guarantee he would find anything about his parents if he went to this place. He might even end up with more questions than answers.

_But it would be a break from dealing with riots and protesters. A change in scenery might be good._

"All right, I'll check it out."

"Good!" Sarif smiled, pleased. "You'll be leaving in an hour. Night time is better so that it won't draw attention. Malik will be waiting for you."

* * *

><p>Walking down the ramp to the helipad, the March night air would have felt cold to others, but to Adam it was refreshing. Sarif Industries' chief pilot Faridah Malik leaned against her VTOL as usual, ever vigilant, and pushed off with her foot to stand straight as she saw him approach.<p>

"Hey, Jensen. Up for a night cruise across the border?"

"Yeah. Don't know if it'll be fruitful, but I guess it's a good excuse to get away from the usual stuff."

"I hear that. Mr. Sarif had me clearing out space in the VTOL just in case we find anything useful. Even if it just turns out to be nothing, I wouldn't turn down a change of pace from dealing with the riots."

Without saying anymore, Malik pulled open the door of the VTOL and walked over to the cockpit. She and Adam had a good relationship, so much of it built on an understanding of each other without words that came from being around each other a lot. Malik understood the reasons for Adam's cynical, dry nature and never crossed any line that might cause him discomfort, only once after the Panchaea incident saying that she was there for him to talk to if he needed it and meant it, and he had thanked her for that and meant it. She wished that he could be happier somehow, given all of the shit life had thrown at him, but knew that that was easier said than done.

A little over half an hour later and they were in the target area above Mono Cliffs Provincial Park, Ontario. From above the forested area looked like a black void in the night.

"Your stop, sir," Malik called to Adam. I'll be in the air if you need me—Pritchard marked the location of the energy spike and uploaded it to your Infolink, so you should be able to find it no problem."

"Good," Adam said, already crouched by the open door. "See you in a bit."

He launched himself out of the VTOL and dove headfirst, towards the blackness. He had a few leisure seconds to lose himself in the hypnotic dark before turning around to be feet first, the glowing amber sphere of his Icarus landing system enveloping him as his descent slowed and he landed on the forest floor.

Even in this darkness, where the looming trees cut up what little moonlight made its way through, he knew his breath was visible in this cold temperature. It was quiet except for the occasional insects or rustling of animals, and Adam's own footsteps on the cushiony earth. He noticed a white tail deer about 30 meters ahead, its eyes gleaming white in his night vision. Immediately the animal sprung away into the safety of the forest, its white tail flashing. Adam felt a small sense of gladness, and moved on.

The waypoint on his Infolink took him to a spot shrouded in bushes. A few moments of scanning the area and scraping deadfall away with his feet revealed a large metal hatch in the ground. Adam gripped the handle firmly and pulled, the lock breaking apart with a metallic cry, and stepped down into an underground passage.

_Well, this might be interesting after all._ There was a bare concrete corridor dimly lit with some fluorescent bulbs that had turned on when he opened the hatch, though one was burned out and a couple flickered and buzzed in that annoying way. A single door lay at the other end, secured with a rather old-fashioned electronic lock. He could not remember the last time he had seen one.

"Pritchard, you there?"

"_Of course,"_ the snarky voice responded. _"What are you seeing there, Jensen?"_

"I'm underground, but I don't see any signs of White Helix. It's just a hallway with one door; doesn't look like anyone's been here for years."

"_Well, like I said, that place has been hidden for God knows how long. Don't be getting scared of a haunted bunker, Jensen."_

Adam mentally rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of giving you the satisfaction."

It would be no problem to hack the lock, but a sudden surge of impatience seized Adam, and his simply wrenched the door from its hinges instead.

Inside was a small room, outfitted from wall to ceiling with computers and medical equipment monitoring vital signs with steady beeps. Cables and wire ran everywhere, and Adam could hear the sounds of air and some kind of liquid hissing and gurgling through some of the pipes. A folding chair was against the wall with a metal lockbox sitting on it. There were no lights, but the cryogenic stasis pod standing in the middle of the room where all the cables led to gave off a soft azure glow.

He looked around at everything, digesting the sight. _A stasis unit? But it's old, too—decades old._ A few taps on the pod's touchscreen indicated that the unit was housing a single person, still alive. The pod lacked windows, so he could not see who it was, but a White Helix logo was on the side.

"Malik, you there?"

"_What's up, Jensen?"_

'"Bring the VTOL around to my location as close as possible, and ready the cargo winch. I've got a stasis pod here with a person inside."

"_A person? Well, wait, we can't really move it if they're hooked up—cutting the power might kill them."_

"This unit's pretty advanced, given its age. It's got reserve battery power that'll last the trip back to Sarif Industries."

"_All right, I'll be there in a sec, but you're gonna have to bring that thing up to the surface, spy boy."_

Adam began to disconnect the monitors from the pod, when Malik's voice came in again. _"Oh, and Adam, it's now past midnight. Happy birthday."_

* * *

><p>An hour and a half after its discovery, the stasis pod was now within Sarif Industries' medical lab. The sterile, chemical smell always bothered Adam, no matter how many times he was exposed to it.<p>

Sarif had initially been a little disappointed when Adam showed up towing a cryogenic unit, but still surprised, and mollified when Pritchard had pointed out that the data on the pod and its computers could have some value, not to mention the person within himself.

There were few people around since it was so late; Adam, Pritchard and Sarif stood in the observation room, located above the small medical suite where the pod was tended to by two doctors.

"Is it so smart to wake this guy up now?" Pritchard asked in a needling tone. "He might turn out to have some strain of flu that knocks us on our asses."

"Hence it being done in a cleanroom," Sarif pointed out, not in the mood for Pritchard's attitude. "Besides, that old stasis pod was not going to last much longer anyway—no point in letting the guy oversleep only to end up dead when his life support checks out."

"Mr. Sarif," Doctor Ken Bancroft's voice cut through the observation room's intercom. "Vitals are all good, patient is responding to reanimation process. We're ready."

"Do it."

Bancroft nodded and turned to type on the pod's touchscreen. A loud beep rang out and the pod's lock lights went from red to green before hissing open as the cover slid open.

What had they expected? Certainly Adam hadn't given it much thought-maybe some sickly billionaire who had been hoping to sleep the decades away until his illness could be cured. The pod revealed, to his surprise, a young woman. She had incredibly long, dark hair that splayed outwards and to her sides, almost reaching her knees. Her small, oval face held a pert nose and delicate, full lips. She was still asleep, but her dark lashes promised a brilliant gaze beneath them.

There had been a few beats of silence before anyone said anything, so caught up in the sight of her.

The other doctor, Noah Ishikawa, cleared his throat. "Administering Eos now." Eos was a gentle stimulant specifically made for waking people up from stasis. The needle was so fine the wound did not even bleed, though Ishikawa cleaned the spot and put a small band-aid on it regardless.

"Still think we shouldn't have woken her, Pritchard?" Sarif asked with a bemused expression.

The ponytailed man was still open-mouthed. "I—well I wasn't expecting that."

Bancroft's voice: "We won't be 100% sure until we do a detailed physical and some blood work, but the pod's system didn't indicate any health issues, and as far as I can see right now, she's got nothing wrong with her."

"She's not out of the woods yet," Pritchard said cautiously. "She's been in stasis for multiple years. The longest period that a person's been in cryo and survived it was eight."

"Well we might have a new world record here, then," Adam replied, never taking his eyes off the woman who was now starting to move.

Her jaw tensed and fingers twitched as her eyes slowly creaked open. The bright overhead lights were blinding and she squinted, a frown forming on her forehead. Her lips separated and she got one breath through before erupting into a violent coughing fit. She gasped and gagged for air, eyes now wide open despite the searing light, but her chest felt constrained as if there were iron bands around it. She spasmed and thrashed around desperately, her movements stiff from her body staying sedentary for so long, and only became aware of the two blurry men in the room with her until after they had gotten a grip on her and held her down.

The one on her right was speaking, but her groggy mind could only hear the first part of his words as distorted noise. "—It's okay, it's okay, shhhhh," he said gently, "Don't worry, you're safe. Don't move around, you nearly tore your nutrient feeds out there."

"You've just woken up from cryogenic stasis," the Asian man to her left said. "It's always hard and disorienting, but just stay calm and focus on your breathing."

Everything was swimming, and her body was cold and felt like it was made of concrete. Blinking, she felt plenty of rheum crusted around her eyes and her lips were chapped. Her arm was plugged with two IV needles leading into the strange bed she was sitting on. When she tried to squeeze her hands into fists, overgrown nails dug in and she drew her gaze down to look at them. Trembling hands, the blood starting to flush in them, with long, tapered fingers.

_This is wrong._ Panic began to rise in her as she searched her surroundings. _A hospital?_ A large window above her showed three men watching her—one in particular appeared to be wearing sunglasses.

Bancroft had no chance to react before the woman backhanded him with all the strength she could muster. He spun and hit his head against a monitor, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

"The Hell—," was all Ishikawa could get out before his was grabbed by his necktie and slammed into the metal of the stasis pod's cover.

After pulling the needles out of her arm, she swung her legs over the side of the pod and touched the floor, almost falling to it when she stood, but she kept herself steady and ran to the door.

"Shit! Stop her, we can't let her out of here!" Sarif yelled; Adam was already out of the observation room.

She didn't know where she was going, she just wanted to get out. _Ignore the stiffness and pain; there's nothing to do but run._ The hallways were empty, so was it night? A logo caught her eye—_Sarif Industries?_ Why was she inside a corporate building?

A wave of nausea hit her hard and she stumbled, slapping her hand against a wall for support. _Don't stop, never stop._ Adrenaline surged and she began to move again.

* * *

><p>"Pritchard, where the Hell is she!"<p>

_"She hasn't got any GPL implants, Jensen, it's not that easy! Wait, there—she's going up the east stairwell, just passed the sixth floor!"_

_Shit, she's fast_, Adam thought. It was one thing for a person to survive stasis for so long, but to be able to endure her painful resuscitation and be this active should have been impossible. Her muscles did not appear anywhere near as atrophied as they should have been.

But she won't last much longer, he knew—she was dehydrated, disoriented and had no food in her—just running on fumes, if that.

A human stood no chance against an augmented one.

She was sweating now, and shaking uncontrollably. The strain of physical exertion had sapped what little reserves she had left, and now she could hardly stay standing, gripping the rails overlooking what appeared to be the lobby. White, square pillars decorated with a hexagonal pattern lined the floor. There was writing on the pillars, but she could not focus to read them. Distantly she heard men's voices, and saw security guards had noticed her and were rushing to the stairs to reach her.

A bit of blood was smeared on her arm where the needle holes were. She grit her teeth and concentrated. A long red banner emblazoned with that Sarif logo she had seen earlier was suspended from the floor. She could use it to escape. She just got her other leg over the railing when Adam arrived.

_"Stop!" _

She froze at the sound of the husky voice. Looking up she saw the man that was in the observation room earlier, the one with the strange sunglasses. Black hands—_was he wearing gloves indoors?_

"I know what you're trying to do," the man said, a pleading hand held out. "But you need to stop and let me get you. You're in no shape to be running around, you've got to rest."

She did not respond, her laboured breathing was the only sound she made as she tried to steady herself on the narrow edge.

"You're scared, I know, but we won't hurt you, I promise." He was less than ten feet away from her now.

He sounded so nice, she thought feverishly—then her hands, slick with sweat, lost their grip and she started to fall.

The realization only vaguely hit her that she was going to die as she saw the infinitely high ceiling come into view. Everything felt like a dream. Maybe it was, and when she woke up it would all be fine again—

All of a sudden her arm was grabbed by a hand, except it couldn't be, because it didn't feel of flesh but of—metal? The man's face filled her vision; he had leapt over the edge to get her, and now he held her tightly in his arms.

She must have been hallucinating the amber light that seemed to emanate from around him, the sparking tendrils of electricity and a reduction in the speed of their freefall. The sound of his feet touching the floor as if he had only jumped a few feet in the air. Definitely a dream.

It was only then that her voice finally came to life and she spoke. The words came out sticky with difficulty, and were not a conscious choice; just a fragment of something from the depths of her memory.

_Well, there is actually someone who is like you. You might get a chance to meet him one day._

_What's his name?_

"A-dam J...ensen...," she murmured, and then passed out, her gunmetal-grey eyes never seeing the look of shock that had dawned over her rescuer's face.

* * *

><p><em>I understand there's no victimless crimes.<em>  
><em>That being said I feel rather victimized.<em>  
><em>And I will seek substantial compensation.<em>  
><em>Whether legally, legal-ish, or otherwise.<em>  
><em>But sometimes it's such a hassle<em>  
><em>to sit patiently outside the open gates of a loaded castle.<em>

_-"You Can't Stop Progress" by Clutch_


	2. Is It Real?

**Chapter 2: Is It Real?**

"_Chaos is the score upon which reality is written." –Henry Miller_

* * *

><p>An hour later, after the security guards had been informed of the situation and Bancroft and Ishikawa were tended to, the three men spoke in the hallway outside of their new guest's room.<p>

"Guess we have two new world records now: one for surviving over 20 years in stasis, and another for most activity after coming out of stasis."

Sarif spun on his heel in agitation. "How in the Hell did this happen? Anyone coming out of stasis sleep has all the mental and physical sharpness of cookie dough, never mind someone who's been under for two decades!"

"Well," Adam mused, "that she survived the process alone is already something else. Maybe she's a very special case, a one in a million."

"Add the fact that she looks the way she does and it's more like one in a billion."

"You looking for a date, Pritchard?"

"You were the one holding her like some knight rescuing a princess in a fairy tale, Jensen. You don't think she's attractive?"

"She said my name before she passed out."

"What?"

"I never told her my name, but she clearly said it. I don't know how she knew."

"Were you able to find anything out from the stasis pod, Pritchard?"

"It looks military, for one, but was heavily modified. The body-casing gel mattress was programmed to electrically stimulate the body's muscles to prevent atrophy, and a mild ultraviolet light would activate periodically to ensure healthy vitamin D production. Given its apparent age it's incredibly advanced, but the time it was made in still lacked the knowhow to completely suppress the aging process."

"Have the pod fully analyzed by the tech department. If there's anything we can use, we'll take it."

* * *

><p>When she came to, a plain ceiling greeted her view, and the subtle smell of antiseptics tickled her nose. An IV was hooked up to her arm, dripping silently. <em>A hospital room?<em> But unlike the harsh fluorescent whiteness of earlier, this room was lit softly with simulated incandescent yellow lights.

She carefully stretched her mind out to her body. There was not as much pain as before, no burning, suffocating sensation in her chest, but everything was still stiff and heavy. It took a few moments for her to get a hang of wiggling and curling her toes and fingers. Squeezing her eyes made her remember the rheum caking them, and when she lifted her arm to rub the crusts away she almost scratched herself with long, claw-like nails.

_Her hands. _

"How are you feeling?"

She turned to the sound of the voice, male, genuinely concerned, but cautious. It was the same man she had seen earlier, the one with the strange sunglasses. He had been standing by a window where the night skyline of some metropolis was visible. Walking to her bedside, he pulled a chair with him and sat down.

He looked to be in his mid-30s, and had short, brown hair that came to a widow's peak on his forehead. Facial hair, longer than stubble but properly trimmed led to a tapered goatee, though she suspected his chin was pointy as is. The black leather coat he wore was not as plain as it seemed at first glance—the shoulders were patterned with a decorative print. Even sitting in the chair, she could tell he was tall, and the way the coat fit over him suggested a well-muscled figure.

"You were lucky I was able to catch you. I don't know how you had the strength to knock out two men and run around a building, but I doubt you could have survived a fall from the eighth floor."

The woman frowned at him, piecing together previous events. She noticed a bad smell in the air, but was not sure what it was coming from. Then she opened her mouth, tried to swallow, and licked her lips. Her tongue felt the sharpness of chapped skin and she winced. "Water," she uttered.

Adam reached over to a jug sitting on a side table and filled a plastic cup. She winced as she shifted her body to sit up.

When he handed the cup to her waiting hands, her fingers briefly brushed against his, and her heart stilled. He had not been wearing black gloves. _He had artificial hands._ And not the typical crude examples of metal and plastic that she was used to seeing—his were intricately detailed and looked weapon-like, something straight out of a science fiction universe.

She gulped the water down fast and held the empty cup out to him for more, still in both hands like a child. He complied, and she drained the cup again, lowering it to hold in her lap.

It was then that she noticed the shapes of her legs and feet under the covers. Long limbs, almost reaching the end of the bed, like an adult.

_Not her._

Adam saw the distress wash over her face as she began to breathe faster. She brought her hands to her thighs, stomach, and chest, desperately searching for something.

The door hissed open, and two men walked in. One was in his 50s with greying hair and wearing a shirt and vest that were very structured and geometric. He had an artificial hand as well, though his was obviously metal; silver with ornate designs on the forearm that were reminiscent of a medieval knight's armour. The other was younger, his black hair tied back in a ponytail and a slightly gaunt face focused on a tablet computer he was holding in one hand while the other held a large metal attaché case. They were the men she had seen in the observation room.

"Good, you're awake," the older man said in a pleasant tone. "My name is David Sarif. This guy next to me is our tech guy, Francis Pritchard. And you've already met Adam Jensen, our head of security. You really took our doctors by surprise; one's got a mild concussion and both are going to have some bruises, but otherwise they'll be fine. You must still be feeling tired but we'd like to—"

She cut in, her speech coming back to her awkwardly. "No, I, wh—what is this? What's going on? What year is it?" Her eyes were wide, pleading and panicked.

There was an uncomfortable beat between the men as they looked at each other. The one named Adam sighed, and as if by magic, the lenses of his sunglasses retracted away. Her mouth opened as she saw his eyes for the first time: green, but lined with thin rings of light that rotated around his pupils the same way a camera lens did, and a distinct spherical outline in the whites. Above his left eye was a jagged scar, and above that was a hexagonal depression in his forehead. "You're in the medical clinic wing of Sarif Industries, a biotech company in Detroit. We found you in cryogenic stasis in Mono Cliffs Provincial Park in Ontario and brought you back here to wake up. The year is 2028."

She looked as though she had been slapped in the face. "2028?" she echoed, her chest still heaving.

"When you woke up you panicked and tried to escape. You nearly fell to your death. We only happened to find you because your stasis pod had tapped into our local power grid after being cut off from its original one. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep you hidden."

_Dad, please, I want to go home!_

_I know, baby, I know, but you have to do this for me, okay? We have to do this to keep you safe._

"Listen," Sarif said, "We'd like to help you, but we don't know anything about you. Can you tell us your name, and who might've put you in stasis?"

"Give me a mirror."

"Why—"

"Please!" The word jumped out of her; she did not want it to sound so helpless.

Sarif walked over to a drawer and picked up a small hand mirror. He handed it over to her and she snatched it.

"Oh God," she said, her voice practically a whisper, "Where did I go?" A young woman, maybe barely in her 20s looked back at her sadly, large doe eyes of gunmetal grey framed by thick lashes. Rich, chocolate brown hair, stringy and greasy, sprawled well past her shoulders. She gingerly touched her symmetrical face, pressing at the firm skin. It was then that she realized she was the source of the bad smell, an inevitability that came part of being without access to a shower for so long.

There was an instant, then, when the clouds of her mind cleared a little. She lowered the mirror, still clasped in her hands like a talisman as she spoke quietly like a prayer, "My name is Amelia Vaughn. I was born on July 13th, 1994 in Toronto, Ontario. My parents are Jake and Lily Vaughn. I was 10 years old when my father-in June 2004, he took me to Mono Cliffs Provincial Park and said I had to go in the stasis pod."

"Your father?" Sarif asked.

Amelia nodded slowly. "He said that it wasn't safe for me anymore, and I had to hide." She made a tiny scoff of a laugh, "I had just graduated. I thought my life was just beginning."

Pritchard stopped typing on his computer and stepped closer. "_Graduated?_ You said you were 10 years old then."

"Child prodigy," Amelia responded in a way that indicated she was used to explaining this. "I had gotten an honours degree in English literature and sociology from McGill University."

Sarif's eyebrows were raised. "That's quite impressive."

"My parents—I'd like to contact them."

"That... might be a little difficult," Pritchard said. "I can't find anything about Lily Vaughn, but... Captain Jake Vaughn of the US Marine Corps? I'm afraid he died in 2007." He sighed heavily, hating to be the bearer of this kind of news.

Amelia locked her gaze on Pritchard, but the colour drained out of her vision. _"Dead?"_

"A car accident, it seems."

A stream of memories cascaded into the front of Amelia's mind. How tall and strong her father had always been, his big hands holding her up to swing her around while she squealed with delight. His baritone voice laughing when she told him a joke. An argument they had over how late she could stay up. Watching a stupid action movie together and pointing out the various inaccuracies. She felt the familiar hot sting in her nose that was the prologue to tears. Her eyes moistened, but she did not cry.

"I'm sorry," Adam said softly. If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it.

A minute of silence. "I'm sure I can find out about your mother, but it will take some time," Pritchard reassured. "But in the meantime, there is this." He picked up the metal attaché case from the floor and handed it to Amelia. She moved her empty cup to the side table before putting the heavy case on her lap. A tiny retinal scanner was on the side.

"It was in the underground facility where we found you," Adam explained. "We haven't opened it yet."

Amelia touched a button on the panel and the scanner activated, its white lens blinking once as it read her eye. It chirped in response and the case made a clicking sound.

"Whoa," Sarif said under his breath as the contents became visible.

Inside lay a Spyderco Tenacious knife, a Springfield XD .45 ACP, a family photo, a cabochon sapphire drop pendant, an envelope, and stacks of cash. Amelia inhaled sharply at the sight of her father's gun and knife and her mother's pendant. The photo was of the three of them at Disney World when she was 6 years old. It was extremely rare that they got to go on family vacations. She picked up the .45 and absorbed the weight of it, so much easier to hold now than it was when she was a child. There was something about the way she slid her fingers over the slide that Adam saw as vaguely erotic. With practiced ease she confirmed the chamber was empty, then pushed the mag release, catching the magazine in her left hand to check it before shoving it back in.

The envelope held a single sheet of paper with her mother's handwriting.

_Dear Amelia,_

_ If you're reading this then it must mean we were not able to be there to wake you. For that we're both so sorry. I can't imagine how it must feel for you right now; you were always so strong and smart, but it would be scary for anyone to wake up without their family. I hope that you are not alone at least, and you have good people with you. _

_ I can't help but wonder how old you are now. You're such a pretty girl, so you're bound to become a beautiful woman. Please understand that we never wanted to hide you—it tears us apart that you're away from us now—but you were in danger. People from the company I used to work for, White Helix Labs; they were going to take you away from us. You were always special, and that's why they wanted you. We couldn't let that happen. We love you so much, so we did everything we could to prepare you, to give you the tools you would need to stay safe and free. I know you always thought that we were just being overprotective, but you are our only little girl. Our lives were made perfect when you were born._

_ I adjusted the stasis pod you are in to make your reawakening at least a little more comfortable. Your father is the only one who knows where you are located—he decided it would be better if I didn't know. His knife and gun are for your safety, I know you will remember how to use them. The money totals a little over 1 million dollars—it includes the money from your bank account and it should be enough for you to start a new life with. _

_ I can only hope that now you'll be able to live happily. You're capable of doing anything you want. I've left you my pendant because I remember how much you liked it. We love you more than anything in the world._ _Please don't forget about us. We're sorry we've scared you, we love you, we love you. You have to burn this letter._

_Love,_

_Mom and Dad._

_P.S. You will probably need to go by a new name, as your old one won't be safe. We named you Amelia because your father's mother had died not long before you were born, but we did have another name in mind for you. Maia. _

As she read the letter, Amelia could imagine her mother, diligent and practical but often emotional, bent over the kitchen table as she had struggled to write. The slight quivers in a word here and there told her it she must have been crying at the time, pausing to wipe her face so that tears would not stain the paper.

The letter fluttered from her hands and lay on top of the gun. She leaned back against the wall numbly, then passed the letter to Adam.

"It seems that my parents were scared that someone was after me," she said for the sake of Pritchard and Sarif while Adam read the letter. "They thought someone was going to take me away from them."

"Did they mention who?"

"White Helix Labs. My mother used to work for them." Amelia did not notice Sarif snap his gaze towards Adam. "But I don't understand why—the lab burned down and the company went under before I was born."

"White Helix was a subsidiary of VersaLife—it's another biotech company" Sarif said. "Was your mother working on some kind of project? Maybe they wanted her research and tried to get to her through you?" The letter now made its way to Pritchard.

Amelia shook her head. "She never told me the details about what she worked on at White Helix, just that she was a geneticist there." She sighed heavily, and her shoulders sagged. "She mentions that my name isn't safe anymore. So I guess I should reintroduce myself. Maia. Maia Keeler. It was my maternal grandmother's maiden name."

Sarif nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Maia." It was surprising how well she was taking all of this. Many people who came out of stasis or comas were very confused and struggled to remember things. He had expected this girl to be in pieces after finding out her parents were lost to her, but she accepted the news without any hysteria or screams of denial. "I think it would be good for you to get some more rest for now. We can talk some more tomorrow, and I'd also like for a doctor to examine you. After coming out of cryo, people need to have their mental and physical well-being evaluated."

"I'm staying _here?_ No, I, I don't want to stay here."

"You'll be safe, I assure you. We have plenty of security guards and a few other doctors and nursing staff in this wing."

"I promise I'll come back, I'll stay at a hotel."

"It's 5:00 AM right now, it's gonna be hard to find a place to check into. And more importantly, for your safety we'd like you to not be out of our sight."

"Please, I don't want to stay alone here."

"She can stay with me."

Everyone turned to look at Adam. He looked into her eyes, and remembered the white tail deer he had encountered hours earlier. "My place is close, and I can make sure you're okay."

Either Pritchard had snorted, or his clothes rustled as he shoved his hand into his pocket, Maia could not tell which.

Sarif shrugged, and gestured towards Maia. "It's your call. Adam's more than capable of protecting you."

She searched Adam's face. At some point earlier he had covered his strange eyes with his sunglasses again. He was unreadable.

But he had saved her once already.

"If it's all right with you," she said tentatively. He only nodded.

"I'll have a nurse come remove your IV and bring you some clothes," Sarif said. Her mother's letter, which by now had been in his hands, was returned to her attaché case. Sarif left with Pritchard, and Adam followed, his eyes lingering on Maia a few seconds before the door closed behind him.

* * *

><p>It was 5:17AM when Maia left Sarif Industries with Adam. She wore a grey men's t-shirt and black track pants and plain slip-on shoes. Her attaché case was clutched in both hands. They entered a taxi that had already been waiting for them, and after being told the destination, the driver frowned distastefully, but said nothing.<p>

Maia had never been to Detroit, though even if she had she supposed it would not have mattered. There were the fundamental elements of a typical metropolis that she knew from her childhood, but the city she saw before her was a glorification of LEDs, holographic projections and angular architecture. A giant billboard advertised something called a "Limb Clinic." A woman with black hair cut in a stylish bob was giving a preview for the upcoming news on a rotating screen.

"Is this real?" Maia asked.

Adam paused. "Yes. This is real."

The ride had lasted no longer than four minutes, but the driver's expression lightened when Adam handed him a generous tip.

It was thankfully too early for anyone to be present at the reception desk. They said nothing on the elevator ride up.

Adam entered his code into the keypad and the door slid open to the side. "_Welcome home, Mr. Jensen,"_ a female computerized voice called out. He strode into the living room, while Maia stood near the stairs, impressed. Wide venetian blinds automatically rose to greet their owner, revealing the city through three large windows. Hexagonal lamps scattered the high ceiling with a pale, golden glow that she had started to notice was a common thing around here. A massive TV that was wider across than Adam's height hung on the wall, and a turquoise lamp in the shape of antique candelabra stood on the coffee table. There were some houseplants, but they were all wilted and dying.

"It's kind of messy, I know," Adam said somewhat apologetically. "The bedroom's in there; I'll take the couch."

She walked across the floor, past him to the windows. "I'm the guest, I can sleep on the couch." She shivered a little.

"Trust me, it's fine." A sudden weight on her shoulders startled Maia and she gasped. Adam had placed his coat over her. "You looked cold."

"Thank you—" her words stuck in her throat when she turned around to face him. Both of his arms were the same slick black colour of his hands, a high-tech mix of—she could only guess—metal and space-age polymer and carbon fibre? Over his chest was some sort of body armour, and a strange pistol was holstered at his hip. He was dressed to fight and kill.

Adam understood her reaction. "Mechanical augmentations," he explained. "They've become common over the last ten years; everything ranging from leg augments to allow running at high speed to retinal prosthetics that let you see through walls. This is what Sarif Industries does."

The brightening dusk behind Maia burnished her hair with a golden outline. "Was this your choice?"

"No," he replied flatly. He raised his right hand, made a fist and stretched open again, thoughtful. Unexpectedly she gently grasped him with her own hand, slipping her fingers into his open palm and squeezing to feel him. Her claw-like nails click against his synthetic palm, and her warmth transferred to him through his sensor arrays like a comforting glow.

"But it happened, and you had to move past it," she said absently. Her words were as much for her as they were for him.

"Right."

Maia suddenly realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to invade like that. Um, I'd like to take a shower, if that's okay."

"Bathroom's in there with the bedroom."

"Thank you."

The bedroom was dark and comfortable, though somewhat forlorn like the rest of the apartment. Maia placed Adam's coat gently on the chair of his desk and removed her shoes. She set the attaché case on the floor slowly so that it barely made any sound. Entering the bathroom, she closed the door and swiftly removed her clothes.

Now naked, she stood in front of the wide mirror and saw herself clearly for the first time since she was ten years old. Back then she was a little skinny and her hair barely reaching her shoulders. Now she stood at 5'9"—taller than her mother- and had a trim hourglass figure with wide hips and full breasts. When she was a child she had always wanted to grow up as fast as possible, moreso perhaps than other kids. While her advanced intelligence had allowed her to be in university before her peers would enter middle school, everyone on campus had viewed her weirdly. She attended the same classes and lectures, and some of them would be cordial and engage in polite conversations with her, but it never went to the level of real friendship. Now she was suddenly thrust into an adult body, and she felt lost in her own skin. Technically she was thirty-four, but didn't look a day over twenty. Her right arm had two light bruises in that unsettling colour of bile where the nutrient IVs used to be, while the left arm had more recent marks from the IV given to her at Sarif Industries. She gently peeled off the bandage that Ishikawa had placed over the spot he had injected her with Eos, and discarded it in the trash.

Biting her lip, she turned on the shower and stepped in. She held her head up to the ceiling, mouth open, letting the soothing water beat against her. She opened a bottle of shampoo and squirted some into her hand before realizing how ridiculously long her hair was, and used some more. There was no conditioner, which was no surprise to her; typical single guy who kept things simple. She sniffed at the body wash—peppermint and eucalyptus—and scrubbed it all over her body with a loofah.

She stared distractedly towards her feet as twenty-four years of sleep washed off into the shower drain.

* * *

><p>"<em>Looks like you've gotten quite the birthday gift, haven't you, Jensen? Not everyone gets a genius with the body of a supermodel to stay with them."<em>

"Very funny, Pritchard," Adam said, so not in the mood for this. "Is that the only reason you called, because if it is I'm hanging up."

"_As a matter of fact, no. Sarif wanted me to tell you that bringing the girl in can wait until Friday, so you both get the rest of today off." _

"All right. Thanks."

"_Have fun, then. Try not to wear her out—"_

Adam abruptly cut the transmission and was left with his thoughts as he sat on the couch. It certainly had been an unusual birthday for him: finding a secret underground stasis pod that contained a girl who had been hibernating for two decades who also had ties to the same lab where his own origins lay.

He absently curled his hand, the same one that she had held earlier, almost as intimately as a lover might have. It occurred to him that she was the first woman to ever enter his apartment, having lived here alone ever since his life-changing transformation last year. Pritchard's sarcastic voice nagged at him and he frowned, pouring himself a shot from the bottle of Goldtooth bourbon on the table. Just because he hadn't been laid in while didn't mean he would take advantage of a girl fresh out of stasis.

_Even if she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen with a killer body he had felt under that hospital gown and legs that any man would want wrapped around him—_

He shook his head and poured enough to make two shots in the glass. _Fucking male id._ He gulped fast, welcoming the burning sensation of the whiskey on his throat.

"Could you help me with something?"

Maia stood at the doorway of his bedroom, freshly clean from the shower and wearing only the grey t-shirt she had on earlier. It was large enough that it cut off mid-thigh like a tunic, but her bare legs were an enticing sight. Strands of her still-damp hair clung to her face which was flushed a healthy pink from the hot water, and her nails were now gratefully cut short. She wore a white bath towel around her shoulders like a cloak.

"What is it?"

"This hair is way too damn long," she gestured awkwardly. "I need you to cut it shorter for me."

His eyebrows raised ever so slightly. He had to agree with Maia. With her hair in its current wet state, all one length and reaching her knees, she resembled some kind of ghostly monster from one of those Asian horror movies more than a little. "All right, come here."

She padded over to him while he went to the desk by the window and found a pair of scissors. "Cut a few inches past the shoulders, please," she instructed briskly and she turned her back to him. She did not understand why her heartbeat was quickening.

He smelled his body wash and shampoo on her. Adam gathered the dark curtain of her hair into one hand, and positioned the scissor blades around the locks. "Here goes." A few heavy snips, and Maia felt her head suddenly become much lighter.

"Oh, that's so much better," she said, a tiny smile running across her face as she faced him. "It would've taken me too long to wash all of that every time."

He put the scissors back on the table and let the mass of hair fall into the trash bin by his legs. "I left it a little longer than you said. You can get it properly trimmed tomorrow, professionally."

"Thanks." She looked awkward now, fidgeting with her t-shirt. She cast her eyes out the window, where the dawning sun was just starting to show.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asked, "You've been through an awful lot in a few hours."

He saw a flash of vulnerability for a moment, then it was quickly gone. She raised the towel higher to cover most of her neck and the lower part of her face. "All right, I guess. I don't know, it's a little hard to absorb, still. Wake up to find twenty-four years have passed, my father is dead and my mother is missing, and people are cyborgs."

"Augmented," he corrected. "Or 'augs.' A lot of people find cyborg to be kind of derogatory."

"Augs, then. Are you one of those people?"

"Not really, but I do think it's an obsolete word."

"Fair enough."

"There's something I need to ask you. Back at Sarif Industries, when I caught you—do you remember what you said then?"

She looked puzzled. "What I said?"

"You said my name right before you passed out. How did you know my name?"

Her brows creased with a frown, and she gripped the towel tighter like a security blanket. "Did I? I—I'm sorry, I don't remember that. I—" she winced and touched her hand to her head momentarily. "It almost feels like there was something, but... It's all a blur for me right now. I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you."

"It's all right," He said reassuringly. "The majority of people coming out of stasis have some trouble with their memory. It might come back to you in time, so don't worry about it."

"Thank you," she breathed. "For finding me in the first place. And saving me. And letting me stay here."

"It's nothing."

She went back to addressing his earlier question. "It's still so weird to be in this body, it's mine but it's not. I don't even sound the same—and I'm not used to being so much closer to adults' eye-level." She realized she was getting wistful, and stopped herself to look straight at him. "I'll be fine. I may have been ten when I was last awake, but that was also when I was reading Chaucer and Yates and training with my father on how to disarm a mugger. My dad was a Marine, and he always taught me from early on that all things have to die. That's how you know to cherish them when they're alive."

She caught herself babbling, and felt embarassed. "There is no Amelia Vaughn anymore, just Maia Keeler." She began to back away from him slowly. "I'm feeling tired so I guess I'll sleep now."

"I'll be in here if you need me."

She fixed him with a look that told him she hated being treated like a child. "I'm a big girl. And we don't know each other well enough yet, so you there's no need for you to come in, okay?" And with that, she closed the bedroom door.

Adam watched the door for a while before sitting back down on the couch. It wasn't until about ten minutes later that Maia's crying reached his ears. He could tell she was doing her best to stifle the sounds so that he would not hear.

He wouldn't have—if his hearing were still that of an ordinary man's.

He waited for almost an hour, until he no longer heard anything, before letting himself go to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Figurines that fall like leaves the disappear, keep calling<em>  
><em>Is it real? Is it real?<em>  
><em>Dark machines that wheeze and breathe then mock the air, appalling<em>  
><em>What is real? What is real?<em>  
><em>This world can really be too much<em>  
><em>I can't take another day<em>  
><em>I guess that I've just had enough<em>  
><em>My minds slipping far away<em>  
><em>I'm falling out of touch<em>  
><em>Could someone please explain?<em>

_-"Is It Real?" By Scott Matthew_


	3. A Sea of Musing

**Chapter 3: A Sea of Musing**

"_One must desire something to be alive." –Margaret Deland_

* * *

><p><em>The heat came off them both like a furnace, even surrounded by the cool air of the bedroom. Sweat-slick skin pressing and separating with the motions harmonized with the soundtrack of heavy breathing and wet suction.<em>

_ He was behind her, had his hand tenderly encircled around her neck as he bent to kiss her there. He was rewarded with a moan, and an enthusiastic push of her hips back into him. Inflamed, he quickened his pace._

_ She cried out, her spine undulating rapidly like a hyperactive snake as she squeezed the sheets tight with white knuckles. In the final brain-melting moment it was all primal shouts and grunts as everything exploded and they seemed to liquefy together, evolving or de-evolving (who could say which it was?) into a single exhausted mass of flesh._

_ Laying there together, working to catch their breath, he opened his eyes to see her across from him, her usually orderly hair a splayed mess. _

_ She smiled at him, tired but content. _

_ "I love you, Adam."_

* * *

><p>He awoke then, taking a few moments to shed the dullness of sleep, though his mood was already soured.<p>

_Too bad there's no augmentation for controlling what you dream_, Adam thought wryly, blinking a few times as he shifted the kinks out of his body.

There had been a time when dreams about Megan were a delicious thing. Even after they had broken up, he had to admit the memories that had made their way into his sleeping mind were no less enjoyable when he dreamt them, despite now being altered with regret into a guilty pleasure. Now he felt the same way about them as he did about cockroaches and liquorice.

In the past he would have dealt with the physical discomfort that greeted him in the morning after such dreams without much hesitation, but for months now he steadfastly ignored it as part of some self-imposed discipline.

Adam and Megan's breakup had been a slow, difficult process. He knew from early on how ambitious and dedicated to her work she was. Such drive and passion had been one of the reasons he loved her in the first place, and during their early years he found her focus on science, a subject he had never seen much interest in, to be amusing. He had frequently found himself smiling as she went on animatedly about genomics and said words like "3,4-ethylenedioxythiophene" and "protein microarrays" with fluid ease, before teasingly calling her a nerd, which earned him a playful punch in the arm. They were both kept busy with their jobs so that they always missed each other and were glad when they had time together, assuming and hoping that some magic point in the future lay ahead for them when they could get married.

But that future remained incorporeal. As Megan became frustrated with her most recent project, she spent more time at the labs. The daily phone calls to Adam sometimes never came, and more than once he had come home to their apartment to be greeted only by a desperately lonely Kubrick, hungry for his dinner. The arguments had been stressful and left both of them drained, Megan finally acknowledging that she wanted first and foremost to advance her career and could not put it on hold to start a family as he had wanted. When Adam then said they should end things, she had been angry, saying that it could still work, that maybe later, children would be a possibility. He knew though that such a thing was highly unlikely. She would always be married to science, he had told her, and that even if they had children, they would be second place for her.

It was hard for them to be around each other, as with any post-breakup scenario for two people. Eventually, though, the ache dulled away to almost nothing, and each slowly grew to appreciate the other's company again.

All that before he found out she had used him, stolen from him. With that knowledge, every memory of her was marred with the stains of betrayal.

"Fuck," he softly grumbled, working into a sitting position and rubbing his temples. His Infolink told him it was 12:08 PM. After getting himself a tall glass of water and a Cyberboost Proenergy bar from the kitchen, he sat back on the couch and turned on the TV to watch the news.

_"—but so far, Hugh Darrow remains missing to the world. In other news, five months after the Neuropozyne disaster, the worldwide riots are finally coming to an end. While dissent is still prevalent in various areas, most people appear to be in agreement that they are tired of the violence and wish to restore order to their lives. Pro-Human group Humanity Front leader Bill Taggart was quoted as saying that for now, we must heal our wounds, physical and otherwise, and ensure that such a tragedy never occurs again. This led to the topic of Taggart's continuing efforts regarding stricter regulations for human augmentation, as a mere increase in cost and psychological examination for mental fitness has only been a stopgap solution to control the progression. In the meantime, boycotts of LIMB clinics and corporations that deal in augmentations still continue, and several attacks by Purity First and other anti-aug groups remain a concern. Taggart has denounced the attacks and urges the groups to put a stop to the violence._

"_In Hengsha, the biotech corporation Tai Yong Medical has officially named Chief Business Officer Alexander Liu as the company's new CEO. Liu has stated that he will work to bring Tai Yong back to its rightful place as the world leader in biotechnology, and promises compensation to augmented individuals injured following the Neuropozyne incident. _

"_In entertainment news, pop songstress Ny'Ashia Akim was attacked by a fan while leaving a nightclub in Miami. Akim was with a group of friends when Casey Trepp, a 21-year-old student at Miami University, pulled a knife on the singer and attempted to stab her before being subdued by her bodyguards. Trepp's brother had been killed by a mob of afflicted augs, and he sought to kill Akim in retaliation._

"_After the break, I'll be talking with director Gavin Demarco about his new film which reinterprets the classic tale of Romeo and Juliet with an augmentation spin, and we will also take a look at this spring's hottest fashions. This is Eliza Cassan reporting live, from Picus."_

Adam chewed on the last of his protein bar. Ever since seeing Eliza "in the flesh" at Picus headquarters, he could not help wonder every time he saw her face on a screen if she was directly watching him. Knowing her, she probably was. She certainly could.

"Morning."

Adam looked over his shoulder to see Maia standing in the doorway.

"Morning."

"Shouldn't we be getting ready to go back to Sarif Industries?"

"Pritchard called me last night—Sarif says we can do it tomorrow—take the rest of today off."

"Oh." Her shoulders relaxed a little. "Is there a shopping mall near here?" She cringed inwardly as she spoke, hating how shallow that sentence sounded.

"About fifteen minutes on foot," Adam replied. He noticed Maia was now wearing her mother's pendant, the fang-shaped sapphire winking in the light.

"Oh. Good. I think I'll go there today then. I can't go around in just a oversized t-shirt and track pants all the time."

"I'll go with you."

"I don't _need_—"

"I _said_ I'd keep you safe, and that's what I'm doing. I'm not going to hover over you or anything, just show you where it is, and then I'll leave you to it. I need to go to the LIMB clinic for a check-up, anyway, there's one close by."

Maia seemed unprepared for his response. "Okay," she simply said, looking a bit uncomfortable now with nowhere for her indignance to go.

"Are you hungry?"

With everything that had happened to her recently, she had forgotten about her stomach. "Starving, actually. What do you have?"

_Shit._ When was the last time he went shopping for proper groceries? "Crunchy Pirate, Magic Gnome, and Augmentchoos."

"...What?"

* * *

><p>The White Pine Galleria shopping center was not too crowded on this Thursday afternoon, but it still had its share of patrons milling about.<p>

Maia had helped herself to a giant bowl of milk and the three selections of cereal earlier, wolfing the food down before she had even realized it as a bemused Adam watched her with a raised eyebrow. It had not been the grandest of feasts, but its simplicity and reminiscence of childhood were greatly comforting to her. With her stomach full now, she felt quick and eager.

"I'm heading over to the LIMB clinic now," Adam said. "I should be back in about three hours, but you can reach me on this if anything happens." He handed her a tiny cell phone.

"Take your time; I've got to start from scratch so I'll be here a while," Maia said with a smirk.

He looked hesitant. "I can stay with you, you know."

She suddenly felt conscious of the stares they were getting from passer-bys. To be honest, they did stand out: a statuesque, augmented man and an eye-catching woman dressed like a basement-dwelling nerd. Her features shifted to a frown. "Adam, _please_, I may have been away from the world for two decades but I have been to malls before. Like I said, I need to buy an entire wardrobe and I've got a lot of money on that credit chip, so three hours is a _bit_ tight." Before reaching the Galleria Adam had them stop to exchange some of Maia's money so that she would not be wandering around with cash.

"All right. I'll meet you back here in three hours. Call me if anything happens."

Maia nodded, then turned and left immediately, the rubber soles of her slip-ons squeaking on the polished mall floor.

* * *

><p>Dr. Vera Marcovic possessed a very critical gaze that she used constantly with her patients. Combined with her CASIE implant and angling her face against the blue-white lighting within the LIMB clinic in just the right way, it rarely failed to get an honest response from those that would normally clam up and withhold details that might be important regarding their health.<p>

Her current appointment, however, was a tough nut to crack.

"Everything checks out perfectly, Mr. Jensen," she said, the diagnosis the same as always when it came to this man.

Not surprised, Adam nodded and began to dress again. For other patients, Marcovic would have left the room to give them privacy to change—it is a curious thing, how people allow themselves to be exposed for the sake of medical exams, but during the process of putting clothes back on, they feel so much more naked—but there were a number of augmented people who felt little to no shame regarding their bodies. Adam was one of those people.

"The new Grasshopper Jump enhancement and Cheetah drive mod both feel all right?"

"No problems at all; they feel great, in fact. Haven't really used the Cheetah yet, though."

"Normally I'd expect a person to feel at least a bit of nervousness when being equipped with prototype military-grade augmentations that have the potential to easily kill the user." The Grasshopper Jump enhancement was an augment that allowed for acrobatic leaps of extreme distance and height, while the Cheetah drive allowed a person to sprint at a speed nearing 70 mph. Misuse or malfunction in either could potentially tear the person's legs apart and seriously damage their spinal cord.

"Can't help you there, doc," Adam said in an especially gravelly tone as he fastened his pants and reached for his shirt. "Someone's gotta test this stuff out. But I'll let you know the instant I find an aug that doesn't mesh well with me."

It was such a pain for her to deal with his sarcasm. "You'd better not hope that ever actually happens." Marcovic sighed in that same way that reminded Adam of his teachers back in elementary school. "I've heard some rumours recently about sightings of an augmented person running and jumping around the rooftops of the city. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, _Mr. Jensen?_"

"Maybe it was Batman."

"_Really_ now, Mr. Jensen."

"It's nothing to worry about, doc. I just do it sometimes to unwind. Some people swim, some do yoga—I find being able to run around through the air to be really freeing. That sensation of floating and falling; it's like you can let go of everything that's bothering you."

Marcovic was impressed that Adam had even said that much about his own thoughts, but she couldn't let him go yet. "Finding a thrill in falling from great heights? Sounds rather fatalistic to me."

Adam gave a sardonic grin. "I always activate my Icarus Landing System in time. You can rest easy, I'm not brimming with suicidal tendencies." He pulled his coat on and headed for the door.

"The Icarus should _not_ be used for free-falling thrills. Just remember that people can't fly, Mr. Jensen."

His hand braced against the now open doorway. "You're the one that just had a thorough look at me, doc, you should know better than anyone if that actually stays that way."

* * *

><p><em>No time<em>  
><em>No long good-bye<em>  
><em>No time, no answer for the reason why<em>  
><em>No Guarantees in life<em>  
><em>Save for the end, which is no big surprise<em>

_-"Psychedelic Soul" by Scott Matthew_


	4. Sequestered

**Chapter 4: Sequestered**

* * *

><p>In Detroit, anyone who bothered to look above that afternoon might have had the chance of catching a glimpse of something black moving across the sky. They would have figured it to be a bird, not realizing it was a man.<p>

Adam had deliberately failed to elaborate on his explanation for his current penchant for traveling via Detroit's rooftops. It was true that he found a certain calm in the moments of moving through the air, but he also did it to avoid the people on the ground.

That a sizeable number of people in the world still wanted augmentations did not change the fact that many were against it. After having so many people injured or killed because of augs driven mad by contaminated Neuropozyne, it was no surprise that anti-aug sentiment had grown with tremendous fury.

Some places of business refused to serve augs. Others charged extra. Humanity Front and Purity First both enjoyed an increase in members, and aug hate crimes were becoming more common.

Adam could handle the violent people that came at him—he preferred it, actually. What he hated was the whispers, the tense glances, the way people looked at a curiosity in a manner that they thought was subtle and sneaky but was painfully obvious. He had never been _against_ augmentations per se, but had not been a strong advocate for them either, and had the events of the past year never occurred, he would still remain fully human even now, regardless of the benefits. But now he was forever changed, mangled by mechanics into this thing he saw in the fleeting reflections of skyscrapers for the sake of Sarif's convenience.

He checked his Infolink. It had been four hours and fifteen minutes since he last left Maia at the galleria. He picked up the pace a little, making a long leap that took him across a gap between two apartment buildings as he made his way towards her.

* * *

><p>Maia had told Adam three hours would barely be enough to get a decent amount of shopping done, but in truth that had been a conservative assessment.<p>

She had never understood how other member of her sex, the same age or older, could love spending hours on end scouring malls, trying on clothes and accessories but never actually getting anything. It was a stupid waste of time, and so many times she had thought that the girls themselves looked stupid.

This time was an exception, however, since she had to get not just the odd shirt or shoes, but an entire wardrobe for her new, adult self.

_Adult_. It still felt strange to even think that word in relation to herself. As she had scoured the Galleria for clothes and essentials, she could not help but turn to look at her reflection in the glass surface of every store she passed by, ignoring the guilty misconception that she was being vain. After that time in Sarif Industries when she had seen her new face for the first time, she had continued to study it like an archaeologist trying to figure out the mysteries of a never-before seen wonder. Repeated inspections had gradually let her find those features she remembered when she was ten, now transformed, cultured into maturity. This new body, though, was totally alien and more than a little frustrating. Her now ever-present hips influenced a bit of sway in her steps, and the weight of her breasts quivering with every step made walking a clumsy effort. She had tripped and nearly lost her balance more than once already, but persisted in going at no slower than a brisk pace, determined to get as much of her shopping and adaptation done as soon as possible.

Most of the basic fashion staples had remained intact—then again, what kind of world would it be if jeans no longer existed?—but the current trend was definitely a different one from what she remembered. Some sort of flamboyant union of avant-garde and futuristic Renaissance flavour, with high collars, ornate patterns and decorative designs. It all looked a little costume-like to her, but it was the norm for the rest of the world. She managed to get the basics including tank tops, shirts, jackets, pants and shoes, enjoying the new range of selection she had over the children's clothing she was limited to before.

Shopping for underwear, however, had been less than fun. She had been annoyed at being so lost looking at the strange numbers and letters on the tags in the lingerie store, the saleswoman patiently attending to her and asking her size before raising an eyebrow when Maia responded dumbly that she did not know. When the saleswoman had properly measured her and brought her a variety of bras to try on, she could not disguise her frown at the way the confining things bound her chest, though she did have to admit it felt better to have them supported and not so easily reveal themselves through her t-shirt.

Currently she sat on a bench near the main entrance of the Galleria, a colourful array of shopping bags on either side of her. Out of habit she tried to swing her feet as she used to, but her legs were now too long to allow that.

She thought of her parents, as her hand clutched at her pendant. Jake, her father, was dead, Pritchard had told her, and while she did not think he was lying, this knowledge could not yet firmly root in her mind as fact. Especially since her father had always been the picture of strength to her—a former Marine hardened like granite in both appearance and personality, always pushing her in training over self-defence and firearms knowledge, unrelenting because he knew she craved learning new things. During those times she was more a cadet than daughter, and he treated her every bit as equally as he would a real soldier, never deigning to be condescending or patronizing to her, which she saw as a true sign of his love for her.

Her mother, Lily, would watch from the house as Amelia and her father practiced in the backyard, concerned but never disapproving of their activities. She had said it was good for Amelia to know all the skills she would need to defend herself, often reminding her of how dangerous the rest of the world could be. When Amelia was with her mother, they would lose hours at a time learning about botany, a hobby of the latter's, or practicing the piano.

Perhaps the part about a ten-year-old girl learning how to use guns and take down an assailant were not the activities of a suburban family, but looking back on it now, Amelia, as Maia, saw it as a wonderful, peaceful life. There had been so much love in their house.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Maia looked to see Adam standing by her. "It's okay," she said, "If you'd come back sooner, I wouldn't have had enough time."

Adam observed Maia carefully. Not wanting to wear the shabby t-shirt and track pants anymore, she had changed into a new outfit consisting of black pants and knee-high boots, and a chic, fitted burgundy jacket with a wide neckline that exposed her collarbones and a cream top underneath. She had also gone to a salon, her hair now cut and styled with layers and bangs that skimmed her eyelashes.

_And what was that smell?_ His Infolink took a few seconds to identify the scent as Shalimar, Guerlain's flagship perfume. It seemed a rather mature choice for someone as young as Maia, but it did not suit her any less.

"You look good," he stated simply.

She smiled appreciatively. "Thanks. Walking around like some kind of reclusive nerd was getting me too many weird looks."

"You managed to buy everything you need?"

"Mostly. The basics, at least." Her body language told him she was still excited, maybe even a little giddy.

Suddenly he felt weirdly under the gun, as though everyone in the mall was scrutinizing their every move. "Good. We should head over to Sarif Industries now."

Some of the elation left Maia's face. "For more tests?"

Adam softened, just enough that Maia could see it despite his sunglasses. "It's the same procedure we'd go through for anyone else coming out of stasis. Besides, you're probably hungry, so you can get something to eat at the cafeteria there. Come on."

A mischievous eyebrow lifted as they began to walk. "Do they have more than just cereal?"

"Hey, that cereal's good, don't knock it." Adam's face remained neutral, but there was clearly amusement in his voice that he found surprising.

* * *

><p>Walking around with so many shopping bags was not practical, so Maia had them delivered to Adam's room at the Chiron building. When they got to Sarif Industries Adam took Maia in through a discreet back entrance rather than the main lobby. She had not said anything, but he figured she might feel nervous about being under the scrutiny of strangers, especially that of security.<p>

As the elevator doors closed, Adam put a finger to his ear and informed Sarif that they were coming soon. When he ended the call, he stood still with his back to the glass, arms folded, and said nothing more.

Maia was not one force conversations; she knew that being talkative did not equate to being a good communicator. She was content to stand in silence as there was plenty that she found interesting about Adam, though it was a challenge to interact with a person who constantly kept their eyes hidden by those damn sunglasses. She could not even tell if his eyes were open-for all she knew he had fallen asleep standing up. In Maia's mind, people who wear sunglasses indoors and even at night were reserved for a specific category of idiots, but it was undoubtedly clear Adam was doing it for reasons besides misguided fashion sense.

Adam's eyes were in fact open, and he knew Maia was looking at him. It was curious behaviour-she seemed to not care that he might know she was staring-but he found himself not minding it in the least. If anything, it was refreshing that she would be honest enough to do so openly, rather than be like the rest of the people he encountered who would widen their eyes at the zoo curiosity in front of them before hastily averting their gaze as though they caught themselves looking at something illicit. Such people always thought they were being sneaky, but truthfully it was gratingly obvious and easy to catch, all the more when you had prosthetic eyes.

The doors slid open, and Athene looked up from her computer to greet them. She gave Maia an evaluating glance up and down that made the younger woman bristle before turning to Adam.

"Hello, Adam. Mr. Sarif is waiting for you, you can head right on in."

"Thanks, Athene."

Athene tilted her head towards Maia with a professional smile. "Miss, you can wait here."

"Actually, she's with me," Adam said. "Sarif's expecting both of us."

The smile faltered on Athene's face, but she kept her demeanor pleasant. "Oh, well, I'm sorry about that, go ahead then."

Maia had assumed that Sarif's office might be just another boring sardine can enclosure, but was surprised to find it so grandly decorated. Complete with a fireplace and classically-styled paintings hanging on the walls, it felt more like a posh, isolated mansion than a workplace.

Sarif and Pritchard were both there. "Adam, Maia, good to see you both," Sarif said in a voice tailored to calm and comfort. He came from behind his desk and met them in a few confident strides. "So, how are you feeling after your first night out of stasis?"

It took her a second to find the words, seemingly so close but still elusive like fish in a bucket. "Not bad, I guess. Everything's... different." She was annoyed to give a boring answer, no matter how true it was.

Sarif nodded. "It's always disorienting to come out of sleeping for so long, but I'm sure it's moreso for you. Anyway, Dr. Bancroft would like to see you, we've got to make sure you're in good health." He moved back to his desk and hit a key on his computer. "Athene, can you send someone from security up here, please?"

_"Right away, Mr. Sarif."_

Maia waited until Sarif's finger lifted from the keyboard to speak. "Really, Mr. Sarif-"

He waved his hand dismissively as though trying to expel a bad smell, "Please, just call me David."

_"-David,"_ Maia repeated carefully, "I feel fine. I don't need to see a doctor, but I want to find out what I can about my parents."

"I'm sorry, but it's standard procedure; you have to get the tests done. You say you feel fine, and yes you're definitely doing better than anyone else ever has after a two decade-long sleep, but you probably still feel some of the symptoms of long-term stasis, right? Stiffness, aching, bit of difficulty moving around? I'm going to take your silence as a yes. Now, in the meantime, we'll be looking up whatever other information we can about your family, and when you're finished you can take a look at it. Okay? You can take my private elevator there down to the medical wing-Wayne here can escort you there."

Maia turned to where Sarif's metal hand gestured, and saw a blonde man, roughly Adam's age, standing behind them. His sudden appearance might have been surprising if only he did not look so easy to scare himself.

"Hi," the man said awkwardly. "Name's Wayne Haas."

"Hi," Maia replied quietly. She looked Sarif straight in the eyes. "You promise?" she asked him, wary of not revealing any details in front of Wayne. Caution advised her not to reveal her unique circumstances if she could help it.

Sarif's smile was infused with something hard to read. "Of course." He then nodded at Wayne to signal their conversation was finished.

"If you'll follow me," the security guard said courteously, leading the way to the elevator. Maia spared a glance at Adam over her shoulder as she and Wayne walked away. No one spoke until the door closed and the office had just Adam, Pritchard, and Sarif.

"So how was a night with our mystery girl?" Pritchard asked smarmily.

"It was fine," Adam replied, feeling strangely relieved now that Maia was out of the room. "Of course Bancroft will be the one to know for sure, but as far as I could tell, she didn't show any signs of complications resulting from extended hibernation."

"You _know_ that's not what I mean." The relish in Pritchard's voice was practically visible.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Pritchard. Nothing happened, I slept on the couch."

"Oh, well, aren't we Mister Chivalry."

Often Sarif would let this go on for a bit longer-he found the banter entertaining-but today was different. "Enough of that, Pritchard. Were you able to find anything else out about her, Adam?"

"Not exactly," Adam sighed, "but she didn't remember saying my name before she'd passed out. Could be that her memory's still fuzzy from the hibernation, so it might come back to her later."

"Could also be she's sustained some brain damage," Pritchard pointed out, which earned him what he knew to be a shaded glare from Adam. "What, it is possible."

The cybernetic man sighed. "Were you able to dig up anything on her parents?"

"Nothing yet on her mother, Lily, but here's the info I could get on her father, Jake Vaughn." Pritchard handed an ebook to Adam, who looked it over.

"Captain Jake Vaughn, USMC Force Recon—killed by a car bomb in Kuwait in February, 2007, body burned beyond recognition—"

"Yes, yes, it's all wonderful bedside reading," Pritchard said.

"Let me guess, you want me to give this news to her."

"She's the one who wanted to know, Jensen."

Sarif, who had been leaning against his desk with his arms folded, spoke up now. "I agree with Frank, Adam. I think it'd be better if you give her that info. You've already spent more time with her than any of us, so she's more likely to feel comfortable with you and trust you."

"I'm not exactly famous for my bedside manner, Sarif."

"Maybe not, but we can all agree you're better in that department than Frank."

Pritchard shrugged and nodded, not disagreeing one bit.

"It was suspicious enough that her mother was a White Helix employee. The fact that she knew your name confirms she's got some connection with you. I've still got Frank and the lab guys busy analyzing her stasis pod-they're pretty happy to have a shiny new toy to pick apart-and we need her willing to openly talk to us if we're going to get to the bottom of this mystery. Don't act like you're not the least bit curious, Adam."

* * *

><p>Ken Bancroft had been wary to see Maia again at first, still feeling the mild concussion he had received from her, but softened after she apologized awkwardly for assaulting him, which was only further helped by her new, cleaned up look that made her beauty radiant. It had certainly not been the first time he had encountered an uncooperative patient, and her reaction, given the situation, was not unreasonable, after all.<p>

Following the blood test and all other standard procedures for a physical exam, Maia was also subjected to a series of tests that were similar to those that astronauts in training went through. CT scan, vision/hearing testing, muscular fitness and cognitive evaluation were all given, and she passed every one with flying colours. Throughout the battery of tests, she spoke with Bancroft at length, constantly asking him questions about the world in 2028. Bancroft, for his part, was amused by her eagerness, and answered everything as best as he could. The conversation would help to alleviate any nervousness towards the tests as well as get her speech abilities back in shape.

"It's incredible, you know," Bancroft said as he finished marking his chart. "No one who has come out of stasis has been this quick to return to top physical and mental form. You're a very special case."

Maia put her jacket back on. "I used to get that a lot," she said dryly. "Plenty of people called me a freak."

Bancroft saw the tiniest traces of hurt in her face, the memories clearly reaching far back. "I'm sorry if I offended you. One of the biggest mistakes people make is confusing what's different with what's bad," he said sympathetically.

She was grateful he had said that. "Thank you."

"I know it may be hard to get used to 2028 at first, but I'm sure you'll do just fine. You're kind of like Mr. Jensen—you both adapt extremely well to new situations."

Maia considered his words and chewed her lip a little. "How did he become so heavily augmented?"

Bancroft froze, and the unpleasant sense that he had said more than he should have sunk into him. When he faced Maia, he felt he could not get away without telling her. So he did tell her, but making sure to remind her that that was only his point of view and not Adam's. Much of Bancroft's knowledge on the matter, like the majority of the employees at Sarif Industries, was hearsay. He had been the popular subject of office gossip for some time, but almost no one had approached him directly to ask about the details of his transformation, for it seemed comparable to petting a wolf.

After Bancroft had finished, he suggested she should eat something. They walked together to the cafeteria where the doctor bought a coffee and a muffin before excusing himself to return to work. Maia filled her tray with food and quickly sat at a table to eat while she read a copy of the _Picus Daily Standard_ that someone had left behind. Absorbed in satisfying her hunger for both sustenance and knowledge, she worked single-mindedly on both tasks, not paying attention to anything around her. In the upper corner of the newspaper tablet was a picture of the short-haired woman Maia remembered seeing on the outdoor screen. The woman, who identified herself as Eliza Cassan, spoke with a gliding voice that was pleasing to hear, and had an air of cosmopolitan sophistication and fashionableness that made for a winning combination in a media personality.

When she noticed the dark figure enter her peripheral vision, she lifted her head to see Adam standing there.

"Hi," she said, quickly finishing chewing the food in her mouth. Her eyes narrowed momentarily as she gulped the morsel down. Adam gave the empty tray a quick glance, and deduced the aftermath of a considerably large meal consisting of a sandwich, soup, an apple and banana, sushi rolls, a cookie, juice, and water.

Maia felt the restless urge to shift Adam's focus. "Dr. Bancroft said I'm fine. No complications or anything."

"I know," Adam replied, pulling up a chair to sit down across from her. There were only a handful of other employees in the cafeteria at this time of night. "But he also said you need to come back over the course of the next few weeks for check-ups. What are you reading?"

"Catching up on current events," she said, sipping on a large fruit smoothie through a straw. "It seems like a lot happened especially in the last year."

_A lot of things are still happening right now_, Adam thought.

She took a moment to try to compose her sentence. "I, uh... heard that you were in the center of it all."

He had to smirk at that a little. "Sort of."

"I—Dr. Bancroft told me what happened to you. How you became augmented. About the Tyrants' attack on this place, what happened at Panchaea, the contaminated Neuropozyne, about Megan Reed."

Adam stiffened in his chair, and his fingers curled into his hand. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"That you two used to be close, and she was taken away by the Tyrants but after you brought her back, she left."

"Yeah. That's what happened."

She could tell there was so much more to this story, even though he was not willing to tell her, but before she could press him, he held up an ebook.

"We can't find anything on your mother, but we will keep looking. This has the details about your father," he said quietly. "It includes information about how he died."

He felt guilty for using information about her father to change the subject, but it worked, and Maia took the ebook from him and began to read in earnest.

It seemed voyeuristic to watch her then, the expressions on her face shifting the way light and shadows bounced off the facets of a jewel. When she was finished, she put the ebook down on the table with a small clatter, and held her hand to her mouth, turning away from Adam just enough so that it would be harder to see her eyes. Though even if he hadn't possessed a CASIE implant or his other augmentations, he wouldn't have been able to miss the pain so evidently etched in her face.

Minutes passed before she said anything. During that time, the remaining employees in the cafeteria had left, leaving only the two of them. "It's kind of stupid, isn't it," Maia said, her voice thick and strained. "I always thought that he would—he would live forever. He was the strongest guy I knew, and _now_—," she stopped, unable to continue. She took several deep breaths, sniffed a few times and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "What now, I—what do I do? _God_, I'm sorry, I sound stupid." A humourless laugh came from her as a short, choppy sound.

Adam retracted his shades so that she could see him, and gently held her hand in his. He exerted the slightest amount of pressure, so little that even a mouse could have escaped his grasp—to not let her feel like he was invading her space.

"What happens now, is you remember your parents. Hang onto every memory you had of them, good or bad, and keep them alive inside yourself. You can draw strength from them there."

At first she started to move her hand away from his, not so used to this type of physical contact. When she saw that he made no move to restrain her, though, she stopped, letting the tips of her fingers rest on his. She accepted his words and nodded silently.

"Maia, I need to know, do you remember anything else that might help us? Something about your past or your parents' past that could point us in the right direction?"

She cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes again. "Umm, some things... My mother was a geneticist at White Helix—she had said that she didn't agree with their practices and so she quit. My dad—my father, was often away because of work, and my mother was busy too, but a few times Aunt Michelle visited us, and she was really nice."

"Michelle?"

"Yeah, uh, Michelle, Michelle Walthers."

* * *

><p><em>Which way should I turn?<em>_  
><em>_Cos I seem to fall towards burning__  
><em>_But when I look inside I find the place__  
><em>_To cry, to fly, to die_

_—"Fool" by Bôa_


	5. Nothing to do but Live

**Chapter 5: Nothing To Do But Live**

_This house is cold and empty__  
><em>_Just a ghost who I used to be__  
><em>_Staring my own reflection__  
><em>_Wonder if it even recognize me__Last night I heard you whisper__  
><em>_Everything is fine cause I am here__  
><em>_I am here__  
><em>_Last night I saw your shadow__  
><em>_But when I called your name you disappeared__  
><em>_You disappeared_

_"Broken" by Trifonic_

* * *

><p>Adam was glad that his shades were on so that Maia could not notice any particular reaction from him. It was one thing that this girl found in the forest had connections to White Helix, the very place responsible for his own creation, but that she knew Michelle Walthers as well? This was definitely the weirdest birthday he had ever had.<p>

He licked his lips. "Was—was this Michelle Walthers close to you?"

Maia exhaled and focused. "She actually wasn't my real aunt. She was... She worked with my mother when she was at White Helix. She was a nurse." Normally Maia would always take care to compose her words before speaking, but right now, digging through her blurry memories meant spitting out whatever details would come to her first. "She was really nice to me, and I liked her. She didn't treat me as a weirdo like a lot of people do, she—she gave me books every time I saw her, which was only a few times, but... She liked to hear me play the piano."

"Do you think she might know anything? About why your parents hid you in stasis?"

"I don't know, maybe. She lived in Detroit back then, maybe she still does."

Adam looked behind Maia at the clock on the wall; it read 9:38 PM. "All right. It's late now, so how about this: we rest for tonight, and in the morning we'll find Michelle and talk to her."

Maia nodded, and only then realized her hand was still in Adam's. She withdrew it and they both stood up to leave.

* * *

><p>Maia felt herself relax the closer they got to the Chiron building. She knew it was strange to be so at ease being in the home of someone she had just met, but after waking up in a sterile medical facility, this apartment was a soothing place to be. Once they were through the door and in Adam's room, she found stability and safety. She paused to absorb it while Adam removed his coat and tossed it over the couch.<p>

This room was minimally lived in, with personal belongings and unique aspects of an individual—a whiskey bottle, an ashtray with some cigarette butts next to a stainless steel Zippo lighter, and books and papers piled on desks. Maia read all of this information gently to further feed her knowledge of this man named Adam Jensen. He drank, but not problematically so, for he still functioned clearly, and smoked, but not too often, for the stench of nicotine had not sunken into the walls. He was no slob but not a neat freak either, and most certainly a workaholic, as already indicated by his lack of a variety of food and the wilting plants.

Her shopping bags lay near the entrance—they had been delivered to the apartment before Maia and Adam had gone to Sarif Industries. The various brightly coloured bags really stood out against the stillness of the room.

Maia stepped into the kitchen, found an empty pitcher and filled it with water. Only until after she started pouring the pitcher's contents in one of the plants' pots did she respond to Adam's questioning gaze.

"You should take care of these, they're nearly dead already," she said.

"Yeah, I keep forgetting. And a lot of the time I'm not here."

"Well, you should remember. Plants are good for the home; they improve the air quality of a room and can help to lower people's blood pressure." The soil was so dry that she ended up emptying the pitcher entirely on just one plant. She headed back to the kitchen and refilled it.

"You know a lot about plants?"

The corners of Maia's mouth lifted softly. "My mother was an avid gardener. Our backyard and home was filled with plants and flowers, and it smelled great. She loved roses." She went silent for a moment, the only sound in the room being the trickle of water as she fed the other plants. "You know how there's a language of flowers, right? Well, it originates from the Victorian era, back when every little thing was so indecent and inappropriate—they were so prudish that you couldn't say 'leg' without risking being seen as callous—so flowers were each given their own meaning so that people could say what they wanted to without saying a thing."

Adam's CASIE implant perked up and noted that Maia's heart rate and body heat had risen a little, indicating a rise in emotions. Before he could even think about what to say, she quickly returned the empty pitcher to the kitchen, done with her task.

The fond memory of Maia's mother and her garden had melted away, and with it, the lively quality to her voice that was there seconds earlier. "Would it be all right if I used your computer? I'd like to learn more about things I missed while I was sleeping." She seemed squirmy about having to maintain eye contact with him.

"Yeah, sure." Adam reached the computer in his bedroom in a few strides and entered his password.

"Thanks." Maia had not moved from her position in the living room.

"You really should be getting some sleep. You woke up from extended stasis less than 24 hours ago—anyone else would still be bedridden."

A sardonic smile came to Maia's face, one that seemed to pain her. "I'm not like most people. I knew that when I was reading at 17 months old and speaking French, Spanish and Italian while other kids were trying to eat their toys."

Something stirred in Adam and he tried to ignore it; he took a few steps towards Maia, but because they had a doorway between them, he was forced to walk straight at her, appearing more confrontational than he would have liked. She stiffened as he approached and shifted back a fraction of a step, and that made him stop at an arm's length away from her.

"I'll look into where Michelle Walthers can be found," Adam said, wondering what he could do in the meantime to make it look like he actually needed to search for the woman.

"Okay," Maia uttered, leaving to grab her bags before retreating into the bedroom. The door did not click shut, being only closed over.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and sighed. The scent of Shalimar lingered with him like a gossamer veil—a hypnotic, powdery blend of vanilla and faint citrus. A few of his ex-girlfriends had preferred the trendier, fruity floral fragrances, which he sometimes found were sickly sweet or too artificial. Megan never wore any perfume on account of allergies, so it had been a long since Adam was in close proximity to a woman wearing a scent, but he found it was surprisingly good. At least part of that had to be because of Maia herself; he remembered reading something about how the smell of any perfume or cologne could change drastically depending on the individual wearer's body chemistry.

It had struck him only then that Maia was the first woman to ever enter this apartment. He could not figure out why he hadn't realized that sooner.

It was an unconscious choice of instinct for him to not tell Maia that he already knew Michelle, though he would have still done the same thing if he had to redo the moment. Whether Maia had some connection to White Helix or not, it was still not clear who she really was, and he could not afford to compromise Michelle just because he felt sympathy for the girl.

Still he had to admit he was moved a little by the closeness she had with her parents. When she spoke of them, the underlying air of her defensiveness faded, and her expressions became sweet and glowing. In fleeting instances he saw her look almost childlike, but those were always quickly covered up in the adult layer of stifled sorrow as she would remember where she was and that the two people she loved the most were now gone.

Adam sat down and called up the file on Jake Vaughn he had downloaded to his Infolink earlier. A photo of a rugged-looking man in his late 30s appeared in his vision, accompanied by a detailed rundown of the man. Vaughn had closely-cropped brown hair, strong eyebrows and a serious face that was marked with many lines around the eyes that could easily transform them into an intimidating scowl. _Definitely a born soldier. _ Adam imagined Maia must take after her mother.

He thought of his own family, then, of Margie and Arthur Jensen. He had loved them as they loved him, all throughout his life never doubting it, even though life was often difficult due to the constraints of a single-income household. As a child he had not yet fully understood his mother's frequently erratic mental state and her lack of drive or skill to be the reasons she could never hold down a job for long. Whenever she showed up at his school unannounced, it meant they were bound for another adventure, as she called it, and the two of them would spend the rest of the day doing something fun, like going on all the rides at the amusement park multiple times, so much easier to do on weekdays. It got Adam an enviable status among his friends and classmates, but at home it meant many arguments between his parents that he struggled to not hear in his bedroom.

Adam knew that in the furthest depths of his mind, he had dark ressentiment towards his parents. He would have never said it to anyone—they were confined to the base area of the brain where unfiltered, primal thoughts dwelled in messy confinement, forbidden from ever making their way to the front of his consciousness to be voiced—but he still could not help some of these ugly sentiments. Frustration at his mother for her flighty nature that stirred up trouble for him and his father, embarrassment in his adolescent years as the admiration from his peers turned to the occasional teasing for having an unstable parent, and most glaringly, the cold truth that neither of his parents were biologically related to him.

The last one was hardly a responsibility of theirs; he knew from his years as a cop that the life of a child in foster care was very difficult, so it was a blessing that he had been able to avoid that fate. But Adam hated to be lied to all the same.

Still, none of it made his love for his parents any less real.

His Infolink chirped, and he put his hand to his ear to take the call. "What is it, Pritchard?"

"_What do you mean, 'what is it'—I just managed to dig up some information on Maia—Amelia, rather. Still no dice on the mother, though." _

A stream of data cascaded into Adam's vision. An article about the promising child prodigy, Amelia Vaughn, shyly smiling in a photograph, being awarded a scholarship to university. A birth certificate from Toronto General Hospital and accompanying report on the baby and mother's health.

_So at least her mother is her real mother_, Adam thought to himself. He scrolled further.

_July 13__th__, 2004_

_CLEVELAND, Ohio—the search for missing child Amelia Vaughn was called off after police discovered her body washed up on the shores of Lake Erie. _

_Amelia, 10, had been missing since June 10__th__ when she was supposed to be heading home after graduating from McGill University. Identification was delayed due to the pollution of the lake being responsible for extreme degradation of the body, but the a report from the chief medical examiner states that there were signs of sexual assault. _

_Vaughn's parents could not be reached for comment._

Adam's eyes narrowed grimly. "Bad way to go, even if it is a staged death."

Pritchard remained neutral. _"Vaughn must have had to do it that way to convince whoever he wanted to convince that Amelia was dead. Anyhow, didn't you check your computer for this? I sent the files there 20 minutes ago."_

"My—" Adam did not bother to finish his sentence as he cut off the call and entered the bedroom. Maia was sitting at his desk, knees pulled up to her chest and arms circled around herself. Her back was to the monitor, which displayed the news article.

Neither of them said anything at first, but eventually Maia broke the silence.

"Raped and drowned in Lake Erie—not the end I had in mind for myself," she said dully. She tilted her head so that her hair fell forwards and provided a curtain to hide behind. "I could've just gone missing or gotten burned in a fire or something."

"Maia—"

"I know _why_ they did it," she cut Adam off abruptly, her knuckles white. "I always thought they were just overprotective worrywarts. Mom always looked so scared of something but I just figured it was because I was still a kid despite everything."

"They must have thought they had to make it look like you were dead and not just missing, to throw off any suspicion."

"_I know_," Maia repeated, her voice taut. "It still sucks that my parents had to kill me."

Adam could sense she was only pausing between sentences, so he said nothing. She exhaled a shuddering breath and looked at him as though _he_ were the one who was in need of comfort. Her arms unravelled to lie by her sides, and her legs lowered to touch the floor again.

"It's okay," she said kindly like a mother would to a child. "I'm here now. Nothing to do but live."

Just as Adam opened his mouth to speak, a call came in from Sarif. He growled to himself at the interruption and gave an apologetic look to Maia as he picked up. "Yeah, it's me."

"_Adam, sorry, but I need you to come back to the office for a bit."_

"Does it have to be now?"

"_Yes, Adam, now,"_ Sarif said, irritated that such a question would even be asked. _"Faridah should be at your place any second now, so meet her on the rooftop."_ The line went dead without waiting for a reply.

"Listen, I—"

"—Have to go, I know," she said quietly with an unreadable expression. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

Adam knew that sentence equalled a hundred red flags any time anyone said it.

"My parents gave me my life and did everything they could to make sure I'd keep it. I'm not going to go putting that to waste now." Her eyes, the colour of iron ore, stared straight at him like gun barrels.

A tense beat, and finally he said, "All right. I'll be back soon."

* * *

><p>Once he was in the air within the VTOL, Malik took the opportunity to chat.<p>

"So I hear your forest find is now your houseguest, Jensen."

"Temporarily, yeah—who told you?"

"Frank—who else? The guy seemed stoked to have something to talk about that wasn't riots and protests."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Malik, I need you to keep the details about this to yourself for now."

"You gotta be kidding, Jensen," the pilot said in mock-hurt, "unlike El Nerdo, I can be a vault when it comes to secrets."

A smiled tugged at his mouth. Malik always had fun with nicknames for people.

"Seriously, though, Jensen, don't worry about it. It sounds like that girl's been through a lot, and I have no desire to publicize that. What's she like, anyway?"

He did not say anything for a moment, letting the droning engines of the VTOL fill the silence as he considered his answer. "Different; scared but too proud to show it or ask for help. She's not like other people and she knows it so she constantly keeps her defences up."

"Sounds familiar. Hey, got something for you, check by your right there." Adam found a box containing Maker's Mark 46 bourbon.

Even without looking back, Malik knew Adam was looking at her. "Had to rush to get something for your birthday, Spy Boy. Enjoy it in good health."

"Thanks, Fly Girl."

* * *

><p>Over an hour later Adam was finally free from Sarif and returned home. He set the box on the coffee table, becoming still momentarily as something different in the air set his nerves on edge. There was no danger, but rather, the absence of something. He checked the bedroom and bathroom to find them empty. He noticed the attaché case by the foot of the bed.<p>

The gun was still there. _Good._

The knife, on the other hand, was not.

_Goddammit._


	6. Predator Prey 2 and 3 in 24

**Chapter 6: Predator/Prey - 2 and 3 in 24**

_Her eyes_  
><em>She's on the dark side<em>  
><em>Neutralize<em>  
><em>Every man in sight<em>

_—"Angel" by Massive Attack_

* * *

><p>When Adam had left the penthouse office, David Sarif took a moment for himself. At this late hour, Athene had already gone home, and knowing that he was alone meant he could view his office as a private sanctum rather than the command center of a company.<p>

He poured himself a glass of Scotch, sat back in his chair and sighed. As capable of a man as Sarif was, running a major corporation was an uphill battle; but when your market was the hotly controversial territory of human augmentation, the hill was slippery ice, littered with caltrops, and boulders would come falling from above.

Ordinarily he would have taken the time to savour a 30-year-old Glenfiddich as it deserved, but fuck it, today had been a bitch to deal with. He downed the drink in one quick shot and swirled the chunk of ice around inside the empty glass.

It was a good thing that Sarif could be excited and encouraged by deterrents. He saw them as personal challenges that were meant to be conquered, and every time he did he hunted for the next hurdle. That was not to say the events of the previous year leading into the present had not all been enjoyable. Rather, 2027 was an abject shitstorm. Not only had his own chief of security chosen to broadcast a worldwide message blaming the madness caused by Hugh Darrow to be a result of contaminated Neuropozyne, but his top scientist and her research that was this century's biggest discovery had disappeared.

He let his fist fall to hit his desk in a half-hearted slam with that sour thought. Ever since he had returned from Panchaea, Sarif had Pritchard and the rest of his tech team working on finding Megan and her research, even though Sarif Industries was already overloaded in dealing with the fallout of pro-humanist rioters and media backlash. He did get the strangest little feeling that Eliza Cassan's news reports were the tiniest bit less hostile in their coverage regarding SI as opposed to the other augmentation companies, but when he brought it up with Adam, he only received a disinterested shrug in response.

SI was still standing despite everything, but Sarif knew the battle was far from over. Tai Yong Medical would recover before long with that new CEO Huan Liu, who did not look like one to underestimate. Then there was Taggart and his goddamn aug-regulation agenda he was still pushing for with the UN. You'd think after having his and his colleagues' lives _saved_ by an augmented person he would ease up on that a bit but nooo, Humanity Front stubbornly insisted on their Luddite ideals.

As far as Sarif was concerned, his relationship with Adam was the zit that required immediate popping. He was grateful that the former cop had stuck around after Panchaea, but it was evident that he was even more morose than those initial months following his transformation. And while Sarif believed in augmentations more than anyone else, he could not deny that they were far less effective if wielded by a dispirited mind. Without his prized ace in his sleeve, his company was vulnerable, and Sarif hated being vulnerable. It was the only reason he'd taken the gamble of informing Adam about the hidden facility in Ontario, as much as he wanted nothing to do with White Helix and its parent company.

He reached for his phone and punched in an extension number. The line rang twice before picking up.

"Ken Bancroft, Medical Research Department."

"Ken, it's David. How're you doing right now?"

There was a half-second delay in response as Bancroft adjusted his tone to one appropriate in speaking to one's boss. "David, hi. I'm doing all right—just about to head home, actually. Did you need anything?"

"I was just wondering if you finished with the results for the physical exams you ran on Maia Keeler."

"As a matter of fact, I did." Sarif heard the rustle of papers in the background. "I've gotta tell you, David, in all my years I've never seen or heard of a case like hers. Reflexes, strength, stamina, and more—not only are they beyond what a person fresh out of stasis can do, but she's leaps and bounds beyond what most regular people can do. Practically Olympic level."

"What about augmented people, Ken?"

"Hard to say—one hundred people with the same leg augments can't necessarily run at the same speed, after all. Strength-wise, though, she's still human so she can only go so far. Her blood work will still take a few more days to complete, by the way."

"I see." In Sarif's imagination, an elaborate system of gears turned in his mind. "And what did you think of her personally, Ken?"

"How do you mean?" Bancroft was clearly tired.

"I want to hear your impression of her, Ken. What kind of person does she strike you as?"

"She seems very smart, but lonely partly because of it," Bancroft said carefully. "I don't think she would be anti-aug, but not extremely pro, either. She did ask me about Mr. Jensen—wanted to know how he became augmented. I told her, but only what I know."

"Right. Speaking of Adam, I forwarded Marcovic's report on his latest check-up to you earlier. Did you have a chance to look at it?"

"Yeah, and I really can't say I'm a fan of you continuing to throw every augment you've got at this man, David, even if he does take to them as amazingly well as he does."

"Your concern, the same as Marcovic's, Ken, has been duly noted," David retorted. "Adam's job is a dangerous one, and every one of his augmentations has been a critical part of keeping him alive from pro-human terrorists and PMC soldiers alike. Hell, if it weren't for him, several of your coworkers and I wouldn't be alive right now."

"I know, David, I know." Bancroft exhaled wearily, lacking any more energy to argue. "From what I can tell, I concur with Dr. Marcovic—so far it looks as though Mr. Jensen's capacity for augmentations is practically limitless, and while we are doing our best here, we still can't quite recreate what Dr. Reed did to get the magical formula for extending this special quality of his to other people."

"But we've still got _something_, right?"

"An improved Neuropozyne that drastically cuts the risk of hypertension, infection, stomachache, hair loss, and all those other potential side effects the current stuff carries. We can also implement bits of the research info into all augmentations we carry to lessen the rejection rate by 15-20% and improve the bond with the wearer by 25%."

"Good."

"Now, regarding Miss Keeler, I do believe she should come back in the near future for follow-up tests to make sure she doesn't have any problems."

"How long will that let us keep her?"

"For her case, a couple of months at most. Any longer than that, she would know there's no reason for her to keep coming."

"Send me the results of her blood work the second you get them. After that, I want you to do a full work-up on her DNA, and cross-reference it against Adam's. You'll get the chance to do the follow-up tests yourself; Maia will be staying close to us for a while."

* * *

><p>Synapse was a spacious club, but on Friday nights it was always packed to the brim with people. Maia had not planned to end up here—she had not planned anything, really—but when the bouncer stood aside to let her enter after one quick but careful look at her when she arrived, there seemed little reason to refuse. Some of the girls waiting in line complained under their breaths.<p>

Immediately behind the bouncer, a sleek doorframe stood discreetly in the shadows. Thinking it was a metal detector, Maia hesitated for a moment, but she went through and only a dismissive beep was heard, and no one came to stop her.

The venue was awash in bright coloured lights, and moved with a life of its own as the crowd danced to the pounding music. The main bar was the first thing people would see after passing the coat check area. Designed to be like an island and raised two steps above the floor, the counters were lit with pale blue LEDs, giving the bartenders an alien glow as they served drinks. The second floor lounge, marked with mirrored pillars, had plush sofas and booths and an unobstructed view of the dance floor. Maia ended up here, leaning against the railing, partially concealed by the pillar she stood by as she watched over everything like a Grigori.

There was a bachelorette party in full swing at one end of the lounge, the bride-to-be wearing a rhinestone tiara and pink sash as she downed shots with her laughing girlfriends. Not too far away, a group of men with gelled hair and gaudy shirts were talking amongst themselves and pointing towards the party group, strategizing who would try to pick up whom. Some older men, movie studio executives, were engaged in flirtatious conversation with wannabe actresses and models wearing tight dresses. Multiple couples were making out in the thrall of alcohol-fueled desire. Maia caught glimpses of one guy passing a pill to a girl with his tongue. When the girl giggled after swallowing and pulled the man's hand between her legs under her skirt, Maia had to force herself to look away and focus on the dance floor.

She took another sip of her drink, enjoying the taste of cranberry and grapefruit juice. It masked the alcohol so well that she was already on her third one. It helped to let her zone out as her gaze stayed on the dancers below, their writhing turning them into one merged life form that was slave to the DJ's machinations. Most of them were in their 20s, some at the end of their teenage years—the same demographic that she had attended university with, and sometimes talked to during classes, but ultimately excluded her whenever the conversation topic took a turn towards sex, partying, or anything else they felt uncomfortable saying in front of a child. Never mind that she knew that that scruffy guy in her world history class often smoked marijuana (rather than his lazy claim of using herbal incense sticks in his apartment) or that she already knew what a rim job was when out of curiosity she had looked it up online after she overheard a classmate mention it (though she had cringed when she read the definition of the act and wondered why anyone would ever want to do such a thing); people could not get over her physical appearance and never saw her beyond a parallel to their younger sister or cousin.

Even the adults—the parents of her classmates during her brief period in elementary school and the teachers at university—could not help being squirmy in her presence sometimes or letting the tone of their voice become condescending during conversations. Whenever they made a mistake during lectures and she could not help but correct them, the atmosphere soured and became a little prickly, and each occurrence seemed to whittle away at her every time to craft a cynical and sullen personality.

_All because I look like a child._

It took being frozen in a pod for two decades to finally get her the body she so desperately wanted. And now that she had it she had no idea what to do with herself.

She downed the rest of her drink and made a beeline for the dance floor, hoping to shed those unappealing thoughts that stuck to her like barnacles on a ship. She had obviously never danced at a club before, but figured it would not be an issue.

She was right—everyone was too caught up in euphoria of the music, booze and/or drugs to care how good anyone's actual dancing was. She, like all others, found the rhythm of the beat and instinctively began to move to it, releasing something intangible within her as she surrendered to the dizzying frenzy of the pulsing lights. It was only as she began to dance that she realized the alcohol actually had had an effect on her, adding a slightly hazy quality to her vision.

It was fine, she distantly concluded, eyes half-lidded; it made it easier to forget that she was in 2028 all alone. For this brief while she could imagine she was an ordinary 20-something enjoying a Friday night out at the club.

That escapist fantasy was brought to a screeching halt when she felt someone's hand brush over her upper arm. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at her surroundings, though with the crowd she could not identify who had touched her. A second later another unmistakably male hand slid over her back and down towards the base of her spine.

Maia's skin bristled and she spun to her right. A blond young man who seemed to embody the image of a Californian was dancing close to her, a roguish grin on his face once he saw he had her attention. He did not say anything, as there was no point in conversation on the dance floor, but the suggestive tone to his casual touch, the scent of cologne emanating from his partially unbuttoned shirt, and the suddenly incredible physical proximity he had to her made his intent blatant.

All of a sudden Maia was thrown back into reality, and the foggy, sweaty body heat of the clubgoers and this man's forward behaviour scared her. She quickly snaked through the crowd, not giving the man a second look as she grabbed her jacket from the coat check and left the building. A glance over her shoulder and she was relieved to see the man had chosen not to pursue her.

She centered on her breathing as she began to walk. _What was that, what was that?_ There was a whole mess of sensations she had just experienced there. No one had ever looked at her like that before. No one had ever _touched_ her in that way before.

She shuddered. Her arm and back where the men had felt her felt hyper-aware, tense and tingly the way static-charged wool is before the shock snapped at you. She hugged her arms to her body as she walked down the street, more out of a want of security than feeling the briskness of the night air.

It was difficult to ignore a model-gorgeous young woman, moreso when she was alone and her body language betrayed her vulnerability and fear. So it was not long before that she stopped in her tracks due to the two men standing in her way.

Her gaze went up from the ground to meet their faces. A redhead with a nose ring, a stocky, thick-eyebrowed punk, and a lanky African-American –all young, probably in their mid-20s, and dressed for a night out in dark jeans, dress shirts and leather jackets. The way they held themselves, with slouchy posture and chins tilted slightly upwards set off more than a few poser alarms inside Maia's head.

"Hey there," the redhead drawled, chewing gum mashing around inside his mouth. "How're you?"

Maia's eyes darted between the men, but she stayed silent.

"We were just heading to a party—you can come with, it'll be a lot of fun," Redhead said with a crooked grin.

The danger could be felt in the air like a shift in the wind. Maia swiftly moved to her right, going down a narrow side street. She heard the footsteps following behind her, but did not run for fear that it would only provoke them.

"Hey, where you goin'?" a voice called, which she presumed belonged to the one with the bushy eyebrows.

Just when she thought she was at the end of the block, the shadow of another man materialized to block her off again. Maia went left, her only option, and discovered a darkened dead end with a dumpster and the partial remains of an old concrete building that seemed to have been abandoned in the middle of the process of demolition. Graffiti competed for attention on the walls.

"Didn't I tell you she was a knock-out?"

Maia turned to see the blond man from the club standing alongside the three young men. She wondered if it was just coincidence that only now the sugar from the cocktails had transformed into an unpleasant, sour-bitter taste in her mouth.

"You weren't kidding," the African-American said in a deep voice. "You sure she's a natch?"

"Vic, she got in, didn't she?" the blond responded, "This girl is 100% pure human goodness!"

"I dunno," Eyebrows piped up, "Lookin' like this? She's musta had some work done to her."

The blond smacked Eyebrows upside the head hard admonishingly, then pushed past Vic with a friendly but hard pat on the shoulder and stepped towards Maia. It was not often that his looks and charm were not enough to get a girl of his choice to go along with him, but right now he was in a good mood and amused that this one had reacted the way she had like a frightened animal.

"Sorry," he said in a tone of practiced politeness, "These guys can be rude sometimes, but they're just dumb. I'm Ro. Look, I didn't mean to scare you or anything back in the club, okay? Now, look, it's a Friday night, we're all looking to have some fun, and I think you're gorgeous, so what do you say you come with us to a party? Real exclusive, lots of neat people there—natches only. You'll love it."

Maia's jacket was zipped up and she was showing nowhere near as much skin as the other girls that were out tonight, but still she felt the four men's eyes on her as though they were hands seeking to scour over her skin, and it made her teeth clench.

"Thanks for the offer," she said as evenly as she could, "But I'm feeling kind of tired, so I'm going to have to call it a night. Maybe some other time—"

She tried to walk past Ro and he clamped his hand on her arm tightly. "Make it tonight," he said. He was still smiling, but the charm and playfulness that was there earlier was washing away and being replaced with something sinister. "I've got ways for you to stay up all night." _Definitely want to see that look on her face again_, he thought to himself. See her grey eyes wide and submitted to his will as he'd fuck her raw and make her scream his name.

Maia felt a strange energy welling within her like a kettle starting to boil. It was not fear she felt, but a razor-sharp focus on her surroundings, paired with a thirsty anticipation.

"Let go of me," she said in a tone that was hers but at the same time not.

Ro raised an eyebrow at this, and then scoffed. He lowered his face to hers and spoke to her in a way that he probably thought was seductive. "Come on; just come with us, okay? You don't know what you're missing."

"_Let go of me,"_ Maia repeated, "Or in three seconds you'll know what you're missing because I'll have crushed the little thing."

Ro had not expected this. That meek girl that had been startled with a mere hand on her back was nowhere to be seen; now there was this brazen bitch who'd dared to insult him.

His face contorted into a snarl. "You _cunt_." Ro dug his grip into Maia's arm and yanked her towards him. In that moment Maia's mind became startlingly clear, and she felt her father's presence along with everything he had taught her.

_Be quick, Amy. Don't hesitate._

She clasped her hands together and used the combined strength of both arms to wrench her left arm free, using the momentum to bring her right elbow into Ro's face. Before he could even register what was happening, she swung her left palm back at his nose, and felt bone crack. He shouted from the second hit, but that was cut short when her knee shot into his abdomen and a final kick to his groin knocked him on the ground.

All three men were moving now.

_Always be aware of your surroundings—use your environment to your advantage._

She scooped gravel into her hand and cast it at Vic and Eyebrows' eyes while using the other hand to fling an empty beer bottle at Redhead, who was closest to her. The two men yelled at their sudden blindness, and the dirty green glass shattered against Redhead's left temple, not knocking him out but definitely hurting. A devastating kick to the side of his knee took him off his feet, and the right hook that exploded against his chin robbed Redhead of his consciousness.

The skittish deer was no more—in its place was a fierce and brutal tiger with iron eyes and claws of steel, consumed with the pure thought of its own survival. She was about to go for Vic and Eyebrows when something grabbed onto her ankle and she fell to one knee. Ro, his once handsome face marred with blood and a distorted nose, was clinging to her, struggling to prop himself up onto his elbows.

He heard a sharp _click_, then briefly saw a flash of silver lightning from the girl's hand lash out—_the fuck! What the FUCK!_ The vision in his right eye was suddenly gone, pain that was impossible to ignore shrieking in its place like a banshee. She'd _cut his fucking eye!_

"You fucking BITCH!" he roared and clutched at his wound, his words garbled with blood and pain, "Fucking bitch's an aug!" How else she could move so goddamn fast?

Eyebrows was recovering from the gravel in his eyes and had already pulled out a SIG P232, holding it sideways in typical gangster style, but was still in no shape to shoot it. Maia spun out of the line of fire to strike his hand and wrist and easily snatched the gun away, elbowing Eyebrows in the throat and slamming the butt of her Spyderco into his eye. A wet, squishy sound gushed from the contact which Maia found curiously pleasing. She circled and jumped towards Vic, swinging her fist to connect with the left side of his face in a dizzying blow while the gun hammered at the right twice. He was out before he hit the ground. She returned her attention to Eyebrows, who was staggering and trying to cough with his tongue sticking out, striking the back of his neck and kneeing his stomach simultaneously. All bodies on the ground, she ejected the SIG's clip and shucked out the round in the chamber, giving the gun a quick wipe before tossing it into the dumpster.

It took her a second to realize she was trembling, not so much with fear but excitement. Her blood was hot and spiked with adrenaline, and there was a thrilled sensation coursing through her that she figured must be amplified due to the alcohol. Reflexively she stretched and curled her fingers, reconfirming their strength. She snapped her knife shut and put it away in her pocket.

_Leave. Leave and get out of here now._

She turned to go when she bumped into another man blocking her way. He was soon flanked on either side by two friends, and then footsteps signalled to Maia that three more men were slinking up behind her. Unlike Ro and his friends who had some pretense of dressing to impress, these men were decked in warmer hoodies and parkas.

_What the Hell kind of bad luck was this?_ "Let me pass, please."

"Saw what you did to those guys just now," the leader of the gang said with a rumbling, deep voice. "Pretty impressive." He was African-American, but a few years older and bulkier than Vic. His skin was also darker, almost the colour of coffee, making the whites of his eyes stand out even more in the darkness.

From behind her, Maia heard Ro's groans of pain cut off when something hit him hard. She guessed one of the gang members had kicked his head.

The leader smirked as he let his gaze roam over the girl in front of him. "Gotta think, a girl who's got moves like that and looks how you do? Must have some primo-quality augs hooked up to her, ya know? Maybe she'd wanna show 'em to us. We're always interested in new wares, after all." As he finished his sentence, he removed his hands from his pockets to reveal prosthetic limbs. His fingers wiggled playfully and Maia heard the sound of the tiny mechanical parts working. She could not help but notice how crude his prosthetics were, reminding her of the clunky designs of robots from decades past.

"I'm not augmented," she said tightly.

"I find that hard to believe," the leader replied, his Cheshire smile fading only a little. "But that doesn't mean we won't enjoy confirming it for ourselves. And if you are telling the truth? Well, we'll finish what those aug-hatin' motherfuckers couldn't."

The leader's eyes flickered to the men behind Maia, but she caught the signal before they did, and spun towards them as she whipped her left elbow out, clipping the front teeth of the middle man. Whether a person was augmented or not, they still had their flesh and blood parts which were exploitable weak points. The one on Maia's right got her fist in his larynx and a knee to the groin, but when she launched to strike at the man on her left, two massive arms of metal gripped her own.

"Not bad!" The leader said, thoroughly entertained. "It's not often that someone, much less a girl, can get the drop on Sam and B. But Fester here's got arm and eye augs that ain't nothin' to shit at, either."

The thick-necked, broad-faced man called Fester narrowed his eyes at Maia for a second, the glowing rings in his irises rotating, before he twisted her around and slammed her onto the ground so that she was flat on her back. The impact robbed her of her breath and her cried out painfully. Fester loomed over her, his threatening visage appearing upside-down, framed by the murky, starless Detroit sky above him.

She tried to break free, but it was as though her wrists were weighted down with engine blocks. The other two gang members she'd attacked had now recovered and were approaching, their eyes now coloured with extra incentive to hurt her back.

Gritting her teeth, Maia unleashed a kick in desperation, but it only earned her a heavy, metallic clank and an ache in her foot when she hit a prosthetic leg.

"Oh, that must've hurt!" the leader cried. "I'm sure it would've sent Jules there to the hospital if he were just a natch. But he ain't, so, you're shit outta luck, baby."

Jules and the other man seized her ankles, and Maia felt the panic in her skyrocket. She thrashed and wriggled, and though it was useless and only made her wrists and ankles hurt more, logic was becoming less and less a part of her mind.

Her pride was fading as well. Desperate sounds escaped her lips until they managed to form into a furious scream, but then suddenly a piece of broken glass was an inch away from her eye and she went silent. Fester had repositioned himself so that his knee pinned down one of her arms and he held the sharp glass in his free hand.

"You better be quiet," the leader said darkly. "Eyes are valuable on the black market. Especially a pair as pretty as yours. But don't think we won't do it—we can still get good money for just one."

Maia's chest rose and fell rapidly as her breaths hissed through clenched teeth. She could feel the edge of the glass tickle her eyelashes when she blinked. It was the first time in her life she had felt scared for her life, and it was very possible it would be the last as well. She would be ruined here, in this trash-strewn alley, her body defiled and scavenged with no one to mourn her. The thought made rage burn in her body like acid.

The leader filled her vision now as he was almost straddling her. His hand reached for the zipper of her jacket, and she scrunched her face in revulsion.

Then she heard a deafening sound, one, two, three times—was it thunder? The piece of glass whooshed away from her face and shattered into the wall. The crushing pressure on her arms lifted, and upon opening her eyes, Fester's unconscious body collapsed behind her like a doll made of bricks.

What happened next was blindingly fast. Adam grabbed the collars of the two men holding Maia down and ripped them free from her, lifting them up over his head into a near-360-degree arc and rocketing them headfirst into the ground. A thrust kick to the leader's face launched him several meters backwards, and Maia could have sworn she saw two teeth fly out of her would-be assailant's mouth to scatter among the gravel. The remaining two were dispatched with elbow hits to their sides which shattered multiple ribs, and a backhanded strike across both faces that would have made a sledgehammer seem preferable punishment.

Maia was working herself into a sitting position, her weight resting largely on her wrists. Adam was instantly by her side.

"Are you all right?"

She could say nothing, only nod as she stared at the unconscious bodies before her.

He grasped her shoulders and made sure his face was all she could see. "Hey, look at me. _Look at me._ It's over; they're not going to hurt you anymore." Her grey eyes focused on him and her breathing finally began to slow to a normal pace.

Adam glanced around him quickly—_it wasn't smart to stay here._ "Come on," he said. Before Maia had a chance to ask what he meant, he picked her up into his arms and jumped upwards, kicking off against the walls of the surrounding buildings to climb higher with each ricochet until they were on the roof.

He then broke into a sprint, zipping through the cityscape and leaping across building gaps that were the width of streets and alleys like it was all child's play. Maia's mouth was agape, amazed by this unique view of Detroit at night. Maybe it would have been scary to some to see the ground so far below and know that one misstep meant you would be asphalt sauce, but she felt curiously calm.

Soon they were back at the Chiron building. Without another word, he set her down and led her inside, his arm around her shoulder so that her sore wrists were untouched, but he was walking fast enough that she had to consciously work to keep up. They thankfully did not encounter anyone else on the elevator ride down, or in the hallway as Adam entered the security code for his room.

"_Welcome home, Mr. Jensen,"_ the automated voice chimed. The instant the door closed shut, Adam whirled around to face Maia.

"What the Hell were you thinking, going out by yourself?" he said in an annoyed, yet controlled tone. "In what situation does a single young girl wandering around an unfamiliar city at night sound like a good idea?"

Maia blinked, startled at the rebuke. She chewed her lip and casting her eyes downwards as the blinds pulled upwards and the city lights flowed into the room. "I'm sorry, I just—I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts, okay? I guess I wanted to be distracted."

"So you go to a club like Synapse?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He knew what she was wondering. "I asked Sherri, the building receptionist; she told me you wanted to know where you could be around the most people. What you didn't know that Synapse is in a neighbourhood known for its criminal activity with both anti and pro-aug gangs, or that in this day and age, there are plenty of people who can't afford augmentations so the black market for organ trafficking is thriving more than ever before. But even without all that, a girl alone getting drunk in a club is the same as walking into a lion's den with steaks tied to your body."

"I'm _not_ drunk."

"I tracked your credit chip activity. You bought three drinks at Synapse within the last hour, and your pupil dilation, body movements and breath tell me you're buzzed at the very least."

Maia's pride rose to the fore, unwilling to go down without a fight. Unfortunately, her ego mashed up with liquor and anger made for a petulant argument. "Don't treat me like some kid. I can take care of myself." Even as she finished her sentence, she mentally kicked herself as she knew what his response would be.

"That's funny, because when I showed up, you were restrained by three men and totally at their mercy." He didn't need his CASIE aug to see that her face was flushed hot with embarrassment. Her heartbeat had hastened again, but he was not done with her yet.

"Why didn't you take your phone?"

"I didn't want to be found," she mumbled, frustrated at how stupid she sounded.

"You would've gotten your wish if those Motor City Bangers had their way with you," Adam replied coldly.

That was the last nail in the coffin. With a look that suggested she had been slapped, her mouth quivered down and she retreated to sit on the couch the way a mouse would to a hole in the wall.

_Ah, shit_, Adam cursed to himself, realizing he'd gone too far. He should not have been surprised at all that she might do something like this—the last time she was conscious, she was ten years old, and then she suddenly wakes up to have lost out on her entire adolescence and all the experience that came with it, along with her only family.

He went over to the kitchen for a moment and came back to Maia with a glass of water and an ice pack. She accepted both quietly, taking a slow sip of the water before setting the glass on the coffee table. The ice nestled against her wrists, but her face was still partially hidden.

"Look," Adam sighed, raking his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry I said that. I know it must have been scary for you." It was not so hard for him to relate to her situation. He sat down beside her when she remained silent. "I get that you might have felt a little stir-crazy after your experience, wanted to lash out in some way."

Something in his words triggered her; maybe it was the genuine concern and understanding she detected in his voice, or that he seemed to be the only man in this hostile world she could trust. Whatever it was, in the next instant she had buried her face in his chest, hands squeezing the body armour with a death grip like he was a mast in a terrible storm, her body trembling from the echoes of her ordeal. The ice pack plopped to the floor with a clunky crush.

He heard her swallow, then murmur in a detached voice, "They... The guy at the club... And the leader of the gang, they, they both looked at me weirdly. A lot of people did. I'm used to people staring, but it was different. _Fuck._" The profanity sputtered out as a harsh whisper—it was the first time she had ever said a swear word.

"Before they looked at you because you were a child among adults," Adam said. "Now they're looking at you because you're an adult, but one that stands out more than most. Frankly it'd be strange if people _didn't_ notice you. You just have to learn to deal with the stares. Trust me, you aren't the only one who gets judged by their appearance."

Maia gave the tiniest of nods, but did not seem to notice his compliment. In fact, even Adam himself was not aware of it.

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it. I'm just glad you're okay."

Was this enough to make up for his chewing her out earlier? He knew well enough from his days as a cop that people often made the mistake of touching those that were in a state of shock or grief without realizing it was sometimes the last thing they wanted. It could come off as insensitive, invasive, and downright threatening on some occasions. But given how she had latched onto him...

He moved slowly and deliberately so that she knew what he was doing. _Give her a chance to back out if she wants._ She stiffened momentarily, but did not resist as he placed his arm around her shoulders. His arm, shaped to simulate the look and feel of real human musculature, was an instant comfort—nothing like Fester's arms, which had all the grace and tactile evocations of a forklift.

Taking a cue from her grip on his chest relaxing, he rested his chin on her head with just enough pressure for her to feel him. The last time Adam had been this tender was when at Panchaea, when he saw the Hyron project and instinctively caressed the face of one of the drones. It still tore at him now as it did then that he had had no other choice but to kill the women, as well as that one girl at Rifleman Bank Station who begged him to free her from the pain, lying on the surgical table covered in her drying blood from having her spinal column removed.

Adam then heard Maia sniffle, and was brought back to the present. Her hands had fallen limp into her lap; she was asleep.

He suddenly considered the way he was with her right now and it made him uneasy. The manner in which he had reprimanded her like a father, how she'd acted like a rebellious daughter busted for sneaking out, and now her using him like a talismanic stuffed animal? He felt old, and found himself a little resentful of Maia for it, even if it was not her fault and she was technically only a year younger than him.

In the corner of his vision, the Infolink told him it was 12:30am, March 10th. Without a doubt it had been the strangest birthday he'd ever had.

* * *

><p><em>This girl I know needs some shelter<em>  
><em>She don't believe anyone can help her<em>  
><em>She's doing so much harm, doing so much damage<em>  
><em>But you don't want to get involved<em>  
><em>You tell her she can manage<em>  
><em>And you can't change the way she feels<em>  
><em>But you could put your arms around her<em>

_—"Protection" by Massive Attack_


	7. Black and Blue

**Chapter 7: Black and Blue**

"_It is a good thing to learn caution from the misfortunes of others." –__Publilius Syrus_

* * *

><p>Detective Frank McCann surveyed his surroundings with a wary eye. Officers, medics and forensic analysts were going about their business in the dark and gritty alley while the red and blue lights of police vehicles flickered in the distance. A fusion of steam from underground vents and exhaust smoke created upward-moving curtains, making the people appear like ghosts.<p>

McCann focused on the white noise of police radio chatter and exhaled sharply. Violent incidents involving augmented people and natural humans, or "natches," was common, especially if it involved gangs like the D-Row Ballers or Motor City Bangers. But this particular scene raised some flags.

His mouth and fingers knew this was the appropriate cue for a cigarette, but he pushed the nagging desire down.

He turned to Officer Nicholas DeCasper, the one who had been first on the scene. DeCasper had been around long enough that he could not be considered a rookie, but he still occasionally displayed signs of that eager-to-please, anxious little brother quality. McCann frankly thought it was rather jarring how young DeCasper's behaviour could make him seem—even his attempt at projecting a mature image by growing a mustache and beard did not fully dispel his boyish aspects.

He was getting better, though, McCann had to admit—in the last several months, the younger officer's confidence and ability to assess situations calmly had taken a healthy boost upwards, but despite this his ego had remained humble and modest. _Unlike assholes like Detective Wagner_, McCann thought, his mouth twisting in distaste.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hearing the gravel and broken glass complain beneath him. "All right, so, let's run through this again, Nicky," McCann said to DeCasper as though they were rehearsing a play. "You get an anonymous text message a little after midnight saying that an assault's taken place at this location, you get here, and find this delightful setup."

DeCasper nodded. "Seven men, six of them Bangers, the other one a natch, all beaten pretty badly. They'll all survive, though the Bangers got way worse punishment than the natch. The big guy there who looks like industrial construction equipment? His prosthetic arms were _crushed_."

McCann glanced towards the ambulance where the lone redheaded man was being tended to by a paramedic. He was squinting his eyes in pain and holding an ice pack to his face where an impressive bruise was already starting to show. A bandage was being placed over a cut on his forehead. In the alley area where McCann and DeCasper stood, the Bangers were now finally being hauled away on stretchers, each one fitted with EMP collars along with arm and leg cuffs, as was standard issue for augmented offenders. Though considering the extent of injuries sustained by the Bangers, the cuffs, Hell, even the boxguard that stood by the transport truck were probably not really necessary. These Bangers were not going to cause trouble any time soon. McCann noted the cybernetic arms of the brick shithouse of a man that DeCasper had mentioned earlier, and was reminded of a pretentious contemporary art sculpture he had seen somewhere once of gnarled, twisted rebar and scrap metal.

"I think that Carmine got the better end of the deal," McCann muttered as he took one more look at the man in the ambulance.

"You know that natch? He still refuses to talk to us."

"Jesse Lane, aka Carmine. Busted him myself a few times for trafficking, assault, intoxication—all those fun kid activities. He's no high-level player, just a young punk, and an aug-hater, too." McCann furrowed his brow. _What worries me isn't Carmine, but who he associates with._

He reached into his coat pocket and pull out a package of nicotine gum, punched a piece out of its blister pocket and popped it into his mouth. He chewed a few times, waiting for the flavour to swish around in his mouth before speaking again.

"He gets injuries to his knee, head and groin that a lot of guys would get in an average street brawl, while these Bangers, including Slim Jim and Fester—who's one of their top strongmen, by the way—look like they've been knocked around with a wrecking ball."

"But at the same time, whoever did this had enough control to make the injuries non-lethal," DeCasper pointed out.

"Carmine sure as Hell didn't do any damage to the Ballers. And if the Ballers were going to start something with Carmine, he wouldn't still be among the living right now. And these guys," McCann said, pointing at dragging footprints and spotty blood trails leading out of the alley, "had injuries of their own to deal with. There was a third person involved here—an augmented one, at that."

DeCasper felt as though McCann's last sentence had been directed at him. He wanted to clear his throat, but knew that would come off as a guilty move.

"Not to mention that none of these guys have lost their wallets, so it wasn't a mugging, either. So why'd this happen, Nicky? I'd like to hear your input."

DeCasper mouth was open and about to sputter when he was interrupted by a member of the forensics team. "Detective McCann." Both men turned to face the analyst, who was holding something out in his hand. "We found this ID."

McCann's chewing slowed to a standstill as he read the information on the driver's license. "Shit." Sensing DeCasper's inquisitive eyes, he flipped the ID around so the officer could see it.

"'Roland Deckland'—_the son of Gregory Deckland? _Of Deckland Shipping?" DeCasper asked, shocked.

"Yeah," McCann sighed, almost growling. "Deckland's got more than a little investment in criminal activity, and his son Ro's no saint either—multiple counts of assault, possession, sexual harassment and assault."

"I'll get in touch with local hospitals to see if Ro's checked into any of them, and send someone to the Deckland's home, too," DeCasper said, making the orders out on his phone. It took a few seconds of silence before he realized McCann was staring at him, chewing his gum intently. "Detective?"

"You seem awfully uninterested in who it was that gave you this anonymous tip, Officer DeCasper."

"Not trying to be a smartass, but it _was_ anonymous, Detective."

It was painfully obvious how DeCasper was trying to play it cool, but under that paper-thin veneer, he was squirming. "Of course. You know, I was very impressed with your handling of that bomb threat by Jacob White during the riots."

"Thank you, sir."

"He was a lunatic, that White—a real surprise that you managed not to take him down without killing him."

"I guess I was just really lucky."

McCann's dark eyes, eagle-like, held DeCasper in place.

"Guess you were," the detective said, and left to walk back to the cars.

A veteran of the Detroit Police Department for nineteen years, McCann did not have any augmentations, not even a CASIE. He prided himself on his own ability at reading people, and it had not failed him yet. He did not have to look back to know that DeCasper was right now breathing a huge sigh of relief. Word spread through the department fast, and nearly all people there knew of that ex-SWAT member who was now some sort of unstoppable machine-man.

"Sarif's attack dog," some called him.

There was a time when McCann would have confiscated DeCasper's phone to be analyzed to determine the identity of the anonymous tipper. He would have also pressed harder on DeCasper himself to get him to admit that he knew the tipper and the attacker were the same man.

But those years were behind McCann. He was getting older, and he wanted to continue getting older with his wife and two children alongside him. Currently the other cases he was involved with included a toddler that had been starving to death by the negligence of his meth-addicted mother, and a hit-and-run incident that left a high school student in a vegetative state. So a bunch of Bangers and no-good punks getting beat up could hardly become a priority for him.

McCann would do his job and carry out the investigation, but he would not pry with the tenacious manner he once had. If Adam Jensen was the one who dealt the punishment onto those men, there had to have been a damn good reason for it.

He knew better than to try to get in such a man's way.


	8. Rest and the Past

**Chapter 8: Rest, and the Past**

_Began an end today_  
><em>Gave and got given<em>  
><em>You made a friend today<em>  
><em>Kindred soul cracked spirit<em>  
><em>It has to end to begin<em>  
><em>Living in your head<em>  
><em>Without anything to numb you<em>  
><em>Living on the edge<em>  
><em>Without anything to numb you<em>  
><em>It had to end to begin<em>

_—"Numb" by Sia_

* * *

><p>"<em>You know, Adam, if I thought a girl who was a human popsicle until 24 hours ago yet displays almost no signs of hibernation sickness is noteworthy, then I think I'd consider news about her beating up a bunch of guys in an alley and almost getting attacked by Bangers to bejust as important information."<em>

Adam rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Annoyed calls from your boss were hardly the best way to wake up. One of the great cons to having the Infolink was that you could never say you missed a call because you could not find your phone.

"I'm telling you now, Sarif. She's safe, the situation was resolved."

"_Can you be sure of that?"_ Sarif's voice had an edge of steel in it.

"No cameras, no witnesses. I wiped the optic recordings of the Bangers so when they wake up, the last thing they'll remember will be just before they saw Maia."

"_And what about the guys Maia took out?"_

"They'll wake up with bruised egos; it's not likely they'll want to admit anything to the police since they were hardly doing anything legal, either. My only concern would be the guy whose eye she cut out, but I have a connection within the department—I'll keep checking in with him in case anything comes up."

"_All right,"_ Sarif sighed, satisfied with that for the time being. _"And how's our girl doing?"_

Adam lowered his mug to rest on his lap and shifted a fraction in his position on the couch. "She's fine. A little shaken up, that's all."

"_No injuries of any kind?"_

Adam frowned to himself at the memory of Fester's clunky hands on Maia. "Some light bruising on her wrists," he answered in a low tone.

_"I see."_ There was a strange pause, then Sarif said, _"Well, in any case, let her take it easy today and see if you can get her to remember anything else about her past."_

"You don't need me to come in?"

_"If I do, I'll let you know first thing. But I think we can both agree that it wouldn't be smart to leave this girl alone after all she's been through, right, Adam?" _

There was something smarmy about the way Sarif spoke, and it made the corner of Adam's mouth twitch.

_"Use today effectively. She needs you, Adam. Take care of her."_ Sarif ended the call before Adam could say anything else.

* * *

><p>In her mind, in that space that was unconscious but not structured enough to be a dream, Maia felt the presence of her father.<p>

A filling of the space around her and the welcome warmth of a large body close by, carrying the unmistakeable masculine scent of an older man. She had always loved to hug him tightly and hear his heartbeat booming within his chest. She curled her body inwards, wanting to linger in this pleasant state.

Adam was kneeling by the side of the bed, his hand resting on the edge. He knew not to actually sit on the bedside, as that ran the risk of making Maia feel invaded if she woke up at that moment.

Given the events of the last 24 hours and change, he was reluctant to disturb her, especially when he saw how at ease she appeared right now, the way she was last night when she had dozed off beside him. It was different than when he had first seen her out of the stasis pod, so still and neutral like a doll—now there was a peaceful innocence to her, further emphasized by the way she lay on her side in a relaxed fetal position, with her hands together by her face.

Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes opened slowly, closed, then opened again like butterfly wings. Lips parted to inhale the first waking breath of the morning. The dullness of sleep was lifting, and gradually her mind registered that this room was not hers, there was something off about the hand that was touching her, and the man in front of her was not her father—

Adam saw her eyes focus, then fill with anxiety as she tensed and stopped his retreating hand.

"Is it 2028?"

Adam understood, and replied, "Yes, it is."

Her hand relaxed a micron, but still stayed on his. "Am I still me?"

It was more rhetorical and introspective than an actual question, but he answered anyway. "Yes, you are."

They both fell silent. Maia squeezed Adam's hand, though he did not think she did it consciously. Her other hand went to her upper chest until it found the pendant, and gripped the tiny sapphire. Her gaze floated around his bedroom, reabsorbing its features. Ghostly grey rays of light came in through the thin cracks of the window blinds and striped the walls; it was cloudy outside. Her jacket and boots had been removed, but she still wore the same clothes from the night before.

"How are you feeling?" Adam asked.

Maia's grey eyes met black shades. Adam was wearing a grey t-shirt and dark jeans—quite the departure from his black coat and combat gear, but hardly an unwelcome look. He could almost look like an ordinary human were it not for his synthetic black arms, extra-prominent without the cover of sleeves. As her senses sharpened could she discern the scent she had thought was of her father actually belonged to the half-cybernetic man in front of her. He caught a fleeting look of disappointment, and again noticed resentment brushing by his thoughts.

"I'm all right." Blinking several times, she released his hand and tried to move, then stilled as her body raised many complaints. There was a deep-rooted soreness all over her, and she could not help but wince from it. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she could not help but look at the bruises on her wrist, faintly purple like the faded stain of blackberry juice. Her fingers traced the marks gingerly.

Adam activated his Eye-Know prosthesis to determine if Maia had any other injuries. A quick scan came up negative. "Besides the bruising, you don't have any other injuries. Your body must be feeling the strain of exerting itself so soon after coming out of stasis."

She stared at him, something clearly on her mind, but kept it to herself.

"What time is it?"

"A little after 10:00 AM. I got you some breakfast—don't worry, I got it from the cafe nearby, so it's more than just cereal. You'll feel better if you have something to eat."

"That sounds good."

They made their way to the living room, the sound of Maia's bare feet padding on the floor making an impression in Adam's mind.

Adam knew through Dr. Bancroft that a person just awakened from stasis would need lots of food to get their energy levels back up to normal. On the small dining table by the kitchen, there was an egg white omelet with mozzarella, baby spinach and roasted red peppers, a yogurt parfait topped with honey, granola and fresh berries, a mango and banana smoothie, a bran muffin, apple and orange slices, and a steaming cup of herbal tea.

Maia raised her eyebrows at the feast before her, and felt saliva instantly fill her mouth. She then saw that the table was only set for one. "What about you?"

"I already ate," Adam answered. "Go ahead and eat—I'm taking a shower in the meantime."

"Okay. Thank you."

Once the bedroom door was closed, Adam removed his clothing, letting them flop in a pile by the bathroom doorway. He had a quick once-over of his prosthetics in the large mirror just to check if he had taken any damage from last night before turning on the shower and stepping in.

He let a sigh escape from his mouth as he let the hot water pound at his body, fog flaring upwards and blocking out the rest of the world. For a few minutes he let his mind drift as he luxuriated in the heat, enjoying the sensation of the streams of water snaking over him. He was brought back to reality when he touched his face with a hand of titanium, carbon fibre, and carbon nanotube-reinforced ceramics. Opening his eyes as he tilted his head down, he saw droplets raining onto the tiled floor where two artificial feet connected to the legs that held him up.

"_Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster." _

He snorted at the old TV show line and worked shampoo into his hair furiously to distract from it, building up a fine lather. _Think of something else._

The prompt brought up Maia's face, and Adam considered her seriously. Judging by what he had seen of the damage she had done to those men last night, the training she had received from her father went far beyond your basic self-defense. Jake Vaughn had imbued his genius daughter with the skills of a killer, no doubt making sure that she was just as tough as he was. But there were also times when she was achingly vulnerable; the latching onto him on the couch last night, and just now when she had grabbed his hand after waking up. She had done so without hesitation, as she would have with a 100% flesh-and-blood person.

_Don't kid yourself_, Adam thought, swiping his now-rinsed hair with his fingers before proceeding to wash the rest of himself. Prodigal or not, she was still a kid until she was brought out of stasis—the stress of that plus being assaulted by guys in an alley just made her a ball of post-traumatic stress.

When he was finished, he stepped out of the stall and toweled himself dry before taking a moment to observe the man in the mirror. Maybe he looked a bit older than he actually was, with lines marking his face and the spaces around his eyes, but they were not unattractive as they might have been on other people. He had already been in good physical shape prior to his life-changing alteration, but after receiving his augmented form it became practical for him to adhere to an intensive workout regimen to keep his organic parts up to par.

_A post-modern Vitruvian Man. Yeah, right._

By the time he had dressed and opened the door, Maia had finished her entire meal save for the herbal tea which she held in her hands. The TV was on and Eliza Cassan, ever-present oracle of the world, was giving the latest news update.

"The food was really good," Maia said. She got up from her seat to say something, and paused as pain tried to restrict her again. Catching Adam's look, she gave a little dismissive wave with her hand. "I'm probably just still hurting from when that guy threw me onto the ground."

Adam looked at her levelly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there in time to stop that."

She had not meant to make him feel guilty. She shook her head. "No, it's my fault. I wasn't fast enough or strong enough. And, you were right—I shouldn't have been out alone in the first place." She looked apprehensive, and Adam could tell that the stiffness in her body language was not just from being whatever injuries she had.

"It wasn't your fault. Those men were augmented and had you outnumbered six to one. No one would've been able to win against them with such a disadvantage."

"Is there anything planned for today?" The change in tone and subject matter made Maia sound cold and businesslike, so removed from seconds earlier.

"Sarif said to use today to see if there's anything else we can do to jog your memory about what happened."

Maia set the cup down on the table and closed the distance between them with a few purposeful steps. "There's a place I'd like to go, then."

"Where?"

"To see my father."

* * *

><p><em>"Despite impassioned pleas by Humanity Front leader Bill Taggart, violent anti-aug sentiment continues. Authorities are doing their best to keep order, but last night, two young augmented men were ambushed and severely beaten by Purity First members in Baltimore, Maryland. One was pronounced dead at the scene while the other is in hospital in critical condition. The deceased, Michael Varrington, was stripped of his neural implants and prosthetic right arm, while the other, Samuel Lines, received extensive head trauma from having his cochlear implants torn out. Lines, who had been born deaf, had just recently received his augmentations to allow him to hear for the first time in his life; Varrington was his sign language interpreter. Police believe that the removal of the men's augmentations occurred after the attack, most likely by black market scavengers.<em>

_ "In London, England, a new pro-aug movement group has risen in fame. Calling themselves Provectus, the members state they are 'not terrorists, but fighters of discrimination against augmented individuals.' Provectus' leader, Jennifer Ray, is a long-time NCCL activist who herself is not augmented, but firmly believes that humanity as a species must accept each others' differences and grow with them in order to progress into the future. The European pro-human organization, Natural Order Coalition, has publicly decried Provectus, countering that augmentations are this century's ultimate mode of classism that discriminates against unaugmented people by giving an unfair advantage to those of only a privileged social and economic circle, and that the group's very name, derived from Latin meaning 'advanced,' suggests an elitist agenda. _

_ "Cleanup of the Arctic Panchaea facility is still ongoing, but there has yet to be a consensus reached on what will become of the other remaining four that are under construction. With Darrow Industries' CEO Hugh Darrow missing, the future of both the company and its project which is being called the biggest engineering feat in human history, remains unclear. Many environmentalist groups insist that the other Panchaeas be completed in order to combat global warming, but others do not want anything to do with the facility that reminds them so vividly of the tragic incidents of five months ago. _

"_Coming up after the break: are augmentations responsible for the rising infertility rate? We pose this question to a panel of experts. Also, a review of the latest batches of cloned southern bluefin tuna—do any of them taste as good as the natural version of the extinct fish? Stay tuned to find out. This is Eliza Cassan reporting live, from Picus."_

* * *

><p>Faridah Malik understood the value of mirth and keeping a positive outlook on life, as her mother had taught her that finding enjoyment in every little thing would make for a much less stressful time than being a sourpuss. Some corporate pilots might have been miffed at being called out to fly a mysterious stranger around for a personal visit, but Malik had reacted with curious delight when Sarif told her to pick Adam and Maia up at the Chiron Building. She had not yet seen Adam's 'forest find' and was dying to meet her.<p>

When she had landed the VTOL on the helipad and the two passengers climbed in, Malik's eyes widened, impressed. It was hard to believe that this girl was technically older than her, given that she _looked_ several years younger.

"You must be Maia—I'm Farida Malik," she called over her shoulder as the craft roared for its takeoff. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm a bit busy here."

"Nice to meet you," Maia said clumsily but sincerely, eyes darting between the back of Malik's head in the cockpit and the window showing a shrinking view of Detroit. Adam sat across from her, his arms folded.

"It'll take us a little over half an hour to get to our destination," the pilot announced. "Sit back and relax." When one of you is the driver and facing the other way, conversations are never conducted ideally. Less so inside an aircraft where the noise did not make for the most soothing environment.

The flight was largely silent, with Maia being the one who occasionally spoke, asking questions as they came to her, about the VTOL, about Malik herself, and the world of the future that was now the present. Malik answered efficiently and thoroughly, but did not posit Maia any questions of her own, knowing this was hardly the time to be chatty, especially considering where they were going.

They landed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport thirty-five minutes after takeoff. Even if the VTOL were allowed to land at the exact destination, Malik would have refused anyway, out of respect. A discreet black sedan was waiting for them on the tarmac with an equally discreet-looking driver clad in black.

As Maia walked to the car, Adam turned to speak to Malik.

"Thanks for this, Malik."

The pilot gave a dismissive wave. "Don't worry about it, Jensen. I'm glad to do it. Besides, it's the boss' orders."

They both glanced over at Maia, who was speaking with the driver, probably confirming the details of where they were going.

"You didn't tell me how pretty she is, Jensen."

"Is that relevant to anything?"

A slight grin laced the woman's features. "No, but you gotta admit she stands out."

"Looks are an accident, Malik."

"Tell me about it," the pilot scoffed mockingly, pointing at the mole above her lip. "I don't know how many times I got shit from classmates when I was a kid for this thing. Boys kept teasing me, saying I had a booger or a fly stuck on my face." She rolled her eyes.

"Those can be pretty sexy," Adam pointed out. "_Actual_ beauty marks, I mean; not real boogers or flies. Anyway, knowing you, I'm sure you didn't let them get away with comments like that."

"Of course not, I kicked their asses. Got suspended, but it was totally worth it. Anyway, better not keep your girl waiting. Let me know when you're heading back here."

* * *

><p>The ride to Arlington National Cemetery only took a few minutes, but Adam could tell it felt way longer for Maia, whose face was tight with anticipation. Once they were out of the car, though, she did not run or even walk at a brisk pace, as if exiting the vehicle were a huge transition towards something direful. She kept her steps measured to let her build up to where she was headed. Adam followed closely, one step behind and two to the right of her, so that she could still catch him in her peripheral vision.<p>

There is a hypnotic beauty to Arlington, vastly dotted with perfectly aligned white gravestones that seem to spread forever. It was worth the long walk to take in the peaceful yet resonating atmosphere, which seemed to have a physical hold on Adam. Even in March, when the trees have not quite yet regained their foliage, the grounds and greenery are well-maintained to the degree that people can _see_ the human care. Other tourists and visitors were present, but they all kept to themselves by virtue of respect and the acres and acres of land buffering them.

After an unknown amount of time, Adam stopped walking because Maia stopped. She deliberated a few seconds before casting a look at Adam. He knew what she was saying and he nodded in response. _I'll let you do this alone._

She stepped onto the grass and made her way through the rows of gravestones. When she found herself in front of her father's gravestone, she felt as though her senses dulled to nothing. There was an ache in her throat that refused to go away.

From where Adam was standing, he could tell that Maia was speaking, but not well enough to discern the content. It was not difficult for him to stay standing for extended periods of time given his prosthetic legs, so the wait did not bother him. He passed the time by reading the names on the gravestones, each one decorated with flowers, bottle caps, jewelry, children's toys, and various other mementos placed by the living to the many friends, family members, and loved ones that were no longer of this world. It is such a strikingly human thing to imbue physical items with the power of retaining the memory of a specific person. Adam found himself wondering: when he died, would his prosthetics would be the only proof he ever existed? The thought made him clench his teeth.

When Maia finally walked back to him, she looked diminutive and guilty, and her eyes were dry.

"It's really weird," she blurted out, her gaze aimed just below Adam's, "I thought it would sink in if I saw his grave. I traced my fingers along the carved letters as if doing so would let me feel him again, but it's just a slab of rock. I saw that woman over there, further ahead, crying for her husband, and I can't do the same. The sadness isn't coming to me as it does to her." She swallowed hard and gripped her arms as a thin, rueful smile ran across her face. "Sounds cruel, doesn't it? Being jealous of someone else's ability to be sad."

"I don't think so," Adam said. "The last time you saw him was three years before he passed, and that was during a time you weren't conscious to the world. It's not surprising that you feel disconnected. You have a lot to get used to; this wouldn't be easy for anyone."

Maia covered her mouth with her knuckles. "It doesn't feel like he's dead at all," she said plaintively, then quickly finished with, "but he is." To say so felt as though she had somehow played a part in sentencing her father to death, and the pressure of her words was crushing.

The silence was like an underlying current between the two of them, though not entirely awkward. Adam hated to see a woman upset, but he restrained from the instinct to reach out and comfort her.

Maia was the one who broke the tension. "Let's go now," she said.

"Are you sure?"

A weary sigh came from her that made her seem far older than she appeared. "Yeah. I did what I came to do."

There was little else spoken between them during the walk back to the car or the ride to the airport. It was only as they boarded the VTOL that Adam spoke to Malik, loud enough to be heard over the engines.

"Don't take us back to my place, Malik. I need you to drop us off as close to Royal Oak as possible."

"Sure thing, Jensen."

He sat down before looking Maia in the eyes, curiosity all over her features.

"Where are we going?"

"To see Michelle Walthers."

* * *

><p>The Fairview was a surprisingly nice retirement community in the suburbs of Royal Oak, only built within the last few years to accommodate for the rising number of senior citizens. Intent on setting itself apart from the cliché image of drab and dreary old folks' homes, Fairview was more like an upper-class hotel, with large windows to take full advantage of the natural light, high ceilings, and paintings, drawings and mirrors decorating the walls. The subject matter of the artwork varied from scenic landscape to still-life, but they were all carefully chosen so as not to be bright and cheery without being too forcefully cloying. Plenty of social activities and exercise programs and full-time care were available; even spa services were offered. Therapy animals often visited, and a generous garden included fruits and vegetables that the residents were encouraged to tend to. It had a very positive effect on everyone involved, to be so close to the earth and grow their own food.<p>

Maia had never been to a senior's center before, but was thoroughly impressed. She had not expected Michelle to be living in such a place.

The receptionist was a round-faced woman with apple-red cheeks and a pleasant demeanour suited to her job. Her attention had risen as she looked up from her desk to see the young woman standing in front of her—it was not often they got a visitor that looked the way this one did, and even less often that said visitor was accompanied by a tall, dark, and obviously heavily augmented man. He was a few feet behind the girl and stood leaning against a pillar, as if making an effort to not stand out.

"Um, hi, is a Michelle Walthers here?"

"Of course, are you a relative?"

Maia drummed her slender fingers on the counter a little. "Sort of. My mother was a friend of hers."

"You should be able to find her in her room. 1508, down the hall there."

"Thank you."

"Oh, are you aware of her condition, though? She suffers from dementia, I'm afraid, so it will be very difficult for her to remember details about the past."

"_Dementia?"_ Maia looked back at Adam without thinking about it, but behind his shades, his neutral expression betrayed nothing. She then started off towards where the receptionist had pointed. Adam waited a few seconds before following.

The door of 1508 was open. Maia knocked softly on the wood, feeling the nervousness climbing up from inside her with bony fingers.

"Oh, why, _hello_, there, miss. Who might you be?" Michelle Walthers was sitting at a small wooden desk reading, the curtains pulled back to let in the muted daylight of this afternoon.

Maia chewed her lip. The last time she had seen Michelle, the former White Helix nurse had been in her mid-thirties. Now she was sixty-nine years old, her ebony hair faded to a light grey and resembling steel wool, half-moon spectacles resting low on her wide nose. Lines and wrinkles mapped their way across her face and neck, a sombre testament to how time and gravity catches us all, but the woman Amelia Vaughn knew was still visible. She still had the same kindness in her face and voice.

Maia stepped into the room with infinite care, as if making any sound with her footsteps would shatter this meeting. The last link to her past, the living witness of her existence, was in front of her. Her heart was racing like a hummingbird's wings. "Aunt Michelle? My name is—I'm Amelia Vaughn, do you... remember me?"

Michelle tilted her head at the young woman and squinted. "Oh, _goodness_, no—you're a _very_ beautiful young lady, but Amelia Vaughn's just a child! Don't think you can play tricks on me, now, dear."

Maia's chest tightened, but she steeled herself and sat in the empty chair across from Michelle.

Adam remained outside the room by the doorway, trying to look as non-threatening as a tall, trench coat-wearing augmented man could possibly look. Though Michelle never really remembered who he was, she was always friendly towards Adam each time he visited. That said, it was not good idea to agitate a person with dementia, and he felt in this case, one person doing the talking was more than enough for Michelle to have to focus on.

"I don't suppose this handsome man is your _boyfriend_, then, is he?" An amused smile spread over the older woman's face, perhaps expecting to get a blushing reaction from one of the two visitors.

"No, he—Michelle, do you remember Lily and Jake Vaughn? You worked with Lily at White Helix."

"Oh, _yes_, Lily! Lily's a wonderful woman! I haven't seen her in _months_ now; I should go and visit. She and Jake were the most loving couple you ever knew. They've been together for so long!" Something caught Michelle's eye and she gazed out the window.

Maybe a physical item would help jog the memory. Maia removed her mother's sapphire pendant and held it out in her palms. "Do you recognize this? It belongs to mo—to Lily."

"Yes, yes!" Michelle looked delighted and cupped a hand around Maia's. The girl felt a gush of some strong emotion at the sensation of the old woman's hand, the brown skin now weathered and resembling parchment. "Lily has a necklace very much like that. They didn't have a child for such a long time even though they had been trying, you know. Jake and Lily, they were _so_ sad because they wanted children, but then they had Amy, their little treasure." She moved her hand away and then looked as though she just noticed Maia's presence. "Can I help you, young lady?"

Maia struggled to keep a straight face. Inside, she felt the ground slowly giving way. "Miss... Walthers, I'm a friend of Lily's. Can you remember anything about her and Jake, or Amy? Amelia?"

"That Amelia," Michelle grinned at Maia, as if recounting a delicious old story that only they were privy to, "She's a clever gal! So smart and pretty! Worth the wait, Lily always said, and Jake couldn't ever get enough time to spend with her. That's a very nice necklace you have there, dear, but I couldn't accept such a gift. It looks expensive."

Maia's hands closed up around the pendant. "Miss Walthers, what can you tell me about the Vaughns? Do you know what happened with Amelia?" Calling the woman in front of her anything but "Aunt Michelle" stung Maia like a loss.

"Amelia, little Amy, little Amy—life finds a way, you know. It wasn't always easy for Jake and Lily, but they knew the risks and they deserved a child better than anyone. Hmm, after that first breakthrough, oh! The others went to work on how to inoculate the other babies! But they had a back-up plan!"

Adam's eyes narrowed, unseen by anyone.

Michelle went on. "Lily loved flowers! One of her interests had been genetic engineering in plants. White Helix Labs wanted to repeat their success after that first boy, but they never got that far because of the fire!

"Yeeees, yes," Michelle closed her eyes and shook her head at the unfortunate memory. "But it had to happen—they couldn't let the others go through the same thing and live as lab rats. So beautiful in every way, that gal, and it was wrong but they still wanted her to live even if it meant breaking all the rules."

Trying to make sense of Michelle's words was the same as a blind person trying to solve a Rubik's cube. The space between Maia's eyes started to hurt.

"Miss Walthers, please go on. There was a fire at White Helix Labs?"

"That's right—how did you know? Are you a reporter? Well, the little one was safe and sound, so Lily and Jake had Amy in peace. The labour took a while, and they had to do a Caesarean, but I held her hand in the hospital when she was born, and she had such a strong grip! The little treasure—she was so perfect. I bet that gal drives the boys wild in high school now!"

The gold chain of the pendant was being warmed by Maia's hands, but at the moment the heat felt strangely ineffectual. "Do you know where they are now? Lily, Jake, and Amelia?"

The woman rocked back and forth in her chair, eyes swaying as if trying to gather the correct memory from within her brain. "The weather's not too bad out today, isn't it? Sunny days are nice, but a cloudy day? I like those because there's always the chance it can get even better." A few minutes passed where neither of them said anything, then Michelle said out of nowhere, "Lily loved flowers. Love, lovely blue ones. Such a treasure. I hope I can get the time off work to visit them soon. I bought a new book for Amy; she goes through them so fast." She looked out the window again.

There was a firm knock at the door. An olive-skinned woman in her mid-forties stood wearing a nurse's uniform and a concerned expression. "I'm sorry, miss, I'm afraid it's going to be time for Miss Walthers' medication soon."

"Ah... yes, I'm sorry, I'll be leaving now." Maia quietly laced her pendant around her wrist, then stood up from her seat and scraped up what remained of her strength, which had all but completely drained away from this encounter.

"Miss Walthers? I have to go now. Thank you for talking to me." Her voice sounded not quite like her own.

"Oh, no trouble at all, dear. I just wish I could see Amy, I miss her so much! I hope you find what you need."

Maia exited the room. Adam was gone, but she knew he could not be far. She faced the nurse who was standing in front of her. "I guess I already know the answer to this, but... her memory will never return, will it? If anything, it'll only get worse." It hurt her to say it.

The nurse nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I'm afraid so," she said gently. "All we can do is take care of her and make sure she's comfortable. The past is untouchable, so we concentrate on the present and the future."

Maia touched the fang-shaped sapphire with her thumb and forefinger. "If it's possible," she said, "I'd like to take over paying for Michelle's accommodations here." She looked up to see the nurse raise an eyebrow. "I have enough money."

The nurse looked hesitant. "W-ell, it's not that. I'm afraid Miss Walther's needs here are already covered by another."

"Covered—by who?"

"By Mr. Jensen—you came in with him, yes? He was the one who arranged for Miss Walther to be moved to Fairview to begin with."

* * *

><p><em>It was a cold winter evening when Lily Vaughn picked her daughter up from daycare. She knew Amelia hated the place, but it was out of the question for a three-year-old to be at home alone. A huge pile of snow, riddled with the dents of children's footprints was off to the side of the playground across from the parking lot. <em>

_Amelia was waiting in the hallway, and went to her mother immediately when she opened the door. The girl's hair was messy, and a bandage was on her face. She had gotten into another fight with the other children, Lily already knew, but her daughter stubbornly wore a defiant expression._

_ Lily sighed as she led Amelia out of the building, her breath rushing out as a white gust. "Amelia, you know it's not right to get into fights with the other kids."_

_ "They wouldn't stop saying mean things. They called me a freak, a weirdo, the usual. I ignored them, but they just kept going and then starting pushing me and pulling my hair. Then they ripped a page in the book Aunt Michelle gave me, and I started hitting them." It was truly a peculiar sight to see and hear a child with already such great command of her voice and speech. _

_ Lily bent down so that she was face to face with her daughter. Gloved hands smoothed the little girl's hair down. "You know that kids don't yet know the full weight of their words and actions," she said gently. "I know it can be tough, but you can't rise to their taunts. It's only going to be for a little bit longer until we can get you into that new daycare, okay? In the meantime, I'll call and talk to the staff tomorrow." _

_ Amelia saw that her mother felt bad, which made her feel bad. The smell of Shalimar wafted from Lily and it eased the child. "I'm sorry, mom. I'll do my best not to fight anymore."_

_ Lily could not help but raise an amused eyebrow at that. "You'll 'do your best not to fight?' No, 'I promise not to fight?'"_

_ Amelia grinned devilishly, and her mother shook her head. _

_ "You are just too like your father sometimes, young lady."_

_ They walked towards the car, the hard and gleaming snow crackling and crunching under their feet. Amelia buckled herself into her car seat while Lily turned the ignition to get the heat going. _

_ "Mom?" the girl yawned. _

_ Lily smiled to herself—no matter how smart her daughter was, she still needed naps like any other young child. "What is it, Amy?"_

"_What if even at the new daycare, they're still too different and try to pick on me? What if there's no one else in the world that's like me who can understand?" _

_A wave of things flashed through Lily's mind then, of things she wanted to say but could not. Keeping secrets from her own daughter pained her._

"_Honey... Well, there is actually someone who is like you. You might get a chance to meet him one day." Fear pricked at the edges of Lily's voice, but thankfully, Amelia did not notice, clearly more tired than she had let on._

"_Really? What's his name?" The girl's eyes were drifting shut, demanding rest._

"_Adam Jensen."_

* * *

><p>Amidst all the madness in Detroit and the rest of the world following the events at Panchaea, finding a permanent solution to Michelle Walthers' living situation was a welcome problem to deal with. It was obvious to anyone that it was not best for her to live alone, and were it not for her, Adam knew he would not be alive today, and he thus saw her as family. With Pritchard's help, he had Michelle moved to Fairview within a few weeks, and when he sincerely thanked the hacker for his help, the ponytailed man felt the genuine emotion in Adam's words and could not bring himself to make the usual acidic remark. There was no cure or real treatment for dementia and Alzheimer's; even with augmentations, a brain that has already degenerated as a result of the disease cannot be brought back to what it was before. That said, the nursing staff at Fairview were highly qualified and attentive, and Adam made sure that Michelle got the best of care so that her days spent there would be comfortable.<p>

Adam was standing outside of the Fairview building, scanning the parking lot for any dangers. In this tranquil neighbourhood there was little chance of a threat, but old habits die hard. There were a few slivers of sunlight slicing through the grey clouds, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps. The automatic door of the Fairview swept open, and Maia stood squarely in front of him.

"I remember, but I don't know."

He saw in her eyes the same look he had seen many times as a cop—the one of a cornered animal, cautious, untrusting, lost.

"Adam Jensen, who _are_ you?" she asked.

* * *

><p>"<em>One lives in the hope of becoming a memory." –Antonio Porchia<em>


	9. Crazy is Normal

**Chapter 9: Crazy is Normal**

_"Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds.-__George Santayana_

* * *

><p>For the first time in his life, David Sarif envied Bill Taggart.<p>

The leader of Humanity Front was known for his political savvy and shrewdness. It was something Sarif had always hated, preferring the direct and open route, even if that rubbed people the wrong way sometimes.

But right now the industrialist wished he had those same calculative, conniving skills for schemes for what he was about to put into action. To an experienced manipulator it might have been easier, but Sarif knew he was not one, and the elements in play were volatile. One wrong move could result in ugly backfire.

But the right moves could mean alchemical jackpot. And Sarif was up for the rewards the risk could yield as well as the challenge itself.

It would not be the most subtle game—the starting circumstances had precluded that—but he could still take quiet steps to push things in the desired direction.

He tapped the console at his desk. "Athene, get ahold of Frank for me. And then call Sherri ter Horst."

* * *

><p>Amelia Vaughn was not an over-excitable type of person. Having a level of knowledge well beyond that of her peers afforded her the ability to assess and confront things calmly and logically without becoming panicked or dumbstruck, two things which, as her father taught her, could be costly in certain situations. It also meant being annoyed when the people she interacted with could not keep up with her and sometimes responded in anger, calling her a know-it-all or show-off, but her mother would stress patience, an absolute necessity with children, and discretion, an invaluable skill among adults.<p>

Right now, however, as Maia Keeler, she was feeling far from calm or logical.

"Adam Jensen, who _are_ you?" she asked, her voice strained.

Adam knew Maia did not have her .45 with her, though she did have her knife. There was no question about whether he could disarm her, but he did not want it to come to that. "I am who I said I am," he said evenly. "I'm Adam Jensen, the head of security at Sarif Industries. I haven't lied to you, Maia."

Her words hissed from her mouth like angry steam. "_Yes you have._ You never needed to search for Aunt Michelle, 'cause you knew she lived here. You've been paying for her care for months. _Why? Why do I know your name? What do you have to do with me?_" With every passing second, with every sentence out of her own mouth, her frustration grew, and a messy spring of emotions was churning inside, eroding sense and reason. It was dizzying and frightening, but she could not stop it any more than she could an avalanche.

"I didn't lie to you; I never said I don't know who Michelle is. The reason I didn't tell you I already knew where she lives was in order to protect her."

Maia was glaring at Adam, clearly irritated by his unmoving calm. "Protect her from who?"

Adam's lips thinned, then his attention went to the door that slid open as two elderly women slowly made their way out to go for a walk. He waited until they were out of earshot before gesturing to Maia to move away from the entrance. Over by the parking lot was a secluded area surrounded with shady trees and rhododendrons. A wooden bench was there but neither of them sat down.

Maia stood with her arms crossed, but her hands, rather than hanging relaxed, gripped her arms at the elbows.

_Defensive posture. Tense and scared. _

Adam took a deep breath. "Thirty-five years ago there was a fire at White Helix's lab, started by two scientists who worked there. They did this because they wanted to stop the experiments being performed. Human experiments—on babies. Only one of those test subjects survived, and it was Michelle who took care of him until she found a couple that adopted him. They named him Adam Jensen. I grew up thinking the people that raised me were my birth parents, and it wasn't until the events of last year that I learned the truth. I didn't even know who Michelle Walthers was before then. But the people who were behind the attack on Sarif Industries are from the same group of people that ran White Helix's experiments and killed the scientists that burned down the lab. They're called the Illuminati."

The anger diminished from Maia's face, but the distrust remained and partnered up with incredulity. "Wait, the _Illuminati?_ As in, the centuries-old secret society that controls the world from backstage?"

"That's right. Their current objective has been to suppress the progress of augmentation technology. That's why they kidnapped Megan Reed and her team, and I got killed trying to stop them."

"You _died?_" Bancroft had only told Maia that Adam was severely injured in the attack, and she could not suppress her surprise.

Adam nodded, then gestured to his arms and face. "I got better, though." He rolled his eyes, knowing but not caring that she could not see that. "I don't know if the Illuminati know of Michelle's involvement in the White Helix fire. Given her dementia, it's possible they don't see her as a threat, but I didn't want to take that chance, so I had her moved to Fairview. At this point she's the only family I have left."

There was a mix of strength and sadness steeped in his last sentence, and they both heard it. "She's my family, too," Maia murmured.

The leaves around them rustled lightly with a breeze, and somewhere not too far away some small children were laughing and playing.

"The nurse inside said you visit whenever you can, give her everything she needs."

"It's the least I can do. You said you remembered my name. How?"

Maia swallowed, then shifted her weight to one foot. Her features were pinched, as though she were in pain. "Once, when I was really young, my mother said there was someone a lot like me, who might be able to understand me. She said your name. But I—I don't know what she meant. I wasn't experimented on-my parents are my parents. There were photos of when I was born at the hospital, and my mom had the C-section scar to prove it."

Her words were faltering, dangerously on the verge of dissolving into sobs. _Why did she feel like such an emotional wreck right now?_ Even given the circumstances, she felt she should have been able to manage things with better serenity, but it was as though her body and mind had several crossed wires. She took a few steps in one direction, then spun and went in another, as if staying still were deadly, but movement offered no solution either.

"Do you believe what I've told you?" Adam asked.

Maia barely managed a shrug. "I guess so. I would've done the same thing as you did to protect Aunt Michelle."

"You don't think the whole Illuminati thing is crazy?"

She snorted and cast her eyes down at her feet. "Of course it's crazy. But so is everything else that's happened over the past couple of days. Crazy is normal at this point."

* * *

><p>There had been plenty of times in Gregory Deckland's life when he was angry. He was of the opinion that it was good to embrace the high and low spikes of emotion whenever they hit, as repression was unhealthy for the body and mind. Whenever an employee screwed up, he made damn well sure they knew it, loudly and publicly, if that was what he was in the mood for. One time when a clerk had misplaced paperwork that cost the company a juicy contract, Deckland had ambushed him at the cafeteria during lunch and proceeded to unload so many insults and obscenities on him that by the end of it the kid looked like he would shatter.<p>

Sometimes when loud and public was not enough, things would have to get physical as well. It was Deckland's polished opinion that people that said violence is not the answer were oblivious pussies-the rush that washed over him when he or one of his cronies broke some poor sucker's fingers or beat their face in was like no other.

Deckland appreciatively knew that his son felt the same way as well, though Roland sometimes liked to incorporate sex as a way to channel his rage as well. This was little more than a nuisance, though—Ro was handsome and charming enough that he could talk any girl into a little "experimentation," and if that didn't work, drugs and free drinks sealed the deal. Worst case scenario, the ones that threatened to go to the authorities and could not be bought off either turned into eternally missing persons' cases, or were tossed in stasis pods and shipped to some overseas research facility that even Deckland knew next to nothing about.

When Ro had shown up at the Deckland household late last night, hoisted up on the shoulders of his friends Vic and Enrico, all bloody and bruised, Deckland thought he might have a heart attack. After giving the two men some money to stay silent to the police, he called over his personal physicians. It did not take very long for them to show up, as they knew all too well the risks of being on Deckland's bad side.

Vic and Enrico, having fulfilled their obligation, had nervously asked to be allowed to go to a hospital—Enrico in particular had a nasty eye injury of his own—but Deckland forbid it and set two of his bodyguards to keep them in the house. Only after the doctors were finished with Ro did Deckland allow them to treat Vic and Enrico.

When Ro had regained consciousness, he could barely speak, only make slurred groans. Vic and Enrico told Deckland they said they had been ambushed by Bangers, but managed to at least take them out and escape with Ro before the police arrived. They had to leave Carmine behind, but Deckland assured them gratefully that saving Ro was the right choice. Ro confirmed his friends' story to his father with the slightest of nods, the best he could manage in his state.

Hours later, with Vic and Enrico long gone, Deckland now stood at the foot of the bed on which Ro lay asleep, head mostly wrapped up in bandages and attached to IVs and monitoring equipment. It was near impossible to see any trace of Deckland's own features in his son that he knew he had. According to the doctors, Ro's nose would heal but remain misshapen, even with plastic surgery. His right eye was too damaged and had to be removed, and his jaw had been fractured, resulting in a ridiculously swollen face. The doctors said the fracture was caused by blunt force trauma—specifically a kick to the head, judging by the boot imprint on Ro's cheek.

Deckland was engulfed in a fury that he had never felt before, one so hot that it transcended and registered as bizarrely cool. Like ice that chilled so harshly it burned the skin, he did not feel the normal tendencies of his face flushing red or the desire to scream and roar.

But he did feel the desire to hurt people. To tower over those filthy hanzers as he tore them into pieces of scrap metal. And the goddamn aug-whore that had tricked Ro in the first place...

Deckland prided himself on having a better-than-average imagination. To soothe himself he began conjuring ideas for all the things he would do to the woman that had hurt his only son.

* * *

><p>Sorry it's such a short chapter after such a long time since the last one, but hey, it was a better fit this way.<p>

Please review!


	10. Incentives

**Chapter 10: Incentives**

* * *

><p>Following their talk at Fairview, Adam and Maia took their time, walking around the vicinity of the retirement center and saying very little. After a while they saw Michelle in the distance, walking out with some other residents to sit in the garden. They chattered happily and played board games. Adam and Maia could have gone back in through the building and over to Michelle to speak to her again, but neither did so, united in the strange, unspoken belief that the last thing they should do was to break the woman out of this peaceful reverie.<p>

They had stopped for dinner at a diner on the way back, where Maia filled some of the silence with questions about life in 2028 that she did not have a chance to ask Bancroft. For his part, Adam answered her queries thoroughly, but succinctly.

The waitress had just taken their plates away when Pritchard called them.

"_Jensen, you better get over to Sarif Industries now! The stasis pod just exploded!"_

* * *

><p>Adam, Maia, and Pritchard stood near the smouldering ruins of the lab where the stasis pod had been moments earlier. A blackened starburst marked the cracked and charred floor, slick with water from the firefighters dousing the flames. Most of the smoke had cleared, but dust was still swimming, and it was hard to walk with so much rubble around. Police officers were everywhere, working and talking amidst the radio chatter. Sarif was nearby, talking to Detroit PD Captain Ryan Penn. Both of them looked displeased to be in the other's presence.<p>

Pritchard exhaled irritatedly. "We had the pod moved into this lab after you two left in the morning for further analysis. It looks like it was loaded with explosives."

He could not help an accusatory glance at Maia, but she was too numb to respond to him. It was harrowing to know she had been sleeping in a bomb bed for so many years.

"Probably C-4," Adam noted as he surveyed the wreckage. "The question is how it happened since moving it from its original location didn't trigger anything."

"You _did_ do a sweep for traps beforehand, I assume?" Pritchard asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I did. But I didn't detect anything out of the ordinary."

"No, just a frozen dead girl, so very run-of-the-mill."

Sarif finished his talk with Penn and came over to Adam. "Asshole," he muttered, referring to the police captain. "Penn says that a preliminary report indicates the explosive was C-4. They'll still need to investigate further, but looks like a remote detonator was used to blow the pod." He looked at Maia. "The good thing is, no one was near the thing when it blew, so no casualties."

Some firemen walking by caught a glimpse of Maia. They began to slow their pace, intrigued by the sight of this one young woman amidst men, but when Adam moved to block their view and fixed them with a shaded stare, they took the hint and moved on.

"Some of the data I was gathering from the pod did manage to survive," Pritchard said. "I'll forward the useful stuff to med-science."

Sarif nodded, but Adam frowned. "Shouldn't you be looking into the cause of the explosion itself rather than picking apart the pod's tech?"

The hacker rolled his eyes and head back exaggeratedly, though for once it was more from fatigue rather than sarcasm. "I'm doing _that_ too, Jensen, along with other _actual work_, as opposed to babysitting and taking tours."

Now it was Maia's turn to frown, but Sarif cut in before she could speak. "All right, Frank, that's enough. You're getting overtime, so please, go earn it."

"Right." Pritchard shook his head lightly and then left without hesitation.

"He seems to have a bigger stick up his ass than normal," Adam said.

Sarif rested his hands on his hips and sighed. "Cut him a bit of slack, Adam; I had to call him in to do some extra work, and then this happened. With police reports and cleanup, we're going to be here a while."

* * *

><p>Sarif was right about staying late, as Adam had already known. The aftermath of the explosion was a procedural pain in the ass, with endless repeated questions and statements. Maia had waited in Sarif's office as instructed by the older man himself; for even though she had not been at the scene at the time of the incident, the police would want to question everyone, which would only create a hassle if she, currently without any identification or record, were made to participate.<p>

When they were finally freed from the police and able to go home, it was late. The cab driver kept glancing back at his two passengers in the rear view mirror, hoping that some juicy dialogue might arise, but the young woman and augmented man kept quiet, much to his disappointment. Adam noticed when they got to his floor that furniture store boxes were sitting outside of the room next door to his. He had only a passing curiosity at best in who might be moving in, and stopped concerning himself with the subject the instant his door opened.

"You should get some rest," Adam said to Maia. There was no doubt in his mind that the weight of the past few days' was taking its physical and psychological toll on the girl in a big way.

"I'm not tired," came the casual reply. She took a moment to absorb the view of Detroit from the windows before facing Adam. "I want to split the cost of Aunt Michelle's care."

Standing by the wall of the kitchen, Adam said nothing, seeing that Maia was pausing to let her statement sink in.

"She's all I have left in this world. Even if she doesn't recognize me... I remember her. She looks happy there. I want to keep her that way. I _have_ money, you know that. And I'll get a job; I'll bus tables and clean bathrooms if I have to. But I _want_—_need,_ to do this."

Adam took a moment before tilting his head to the side, as if he might have heard something in the distance. He had never intended to say no to begin with, but it did something good to hear her make her case so passionately. "All right. We split the cost. I'll get the details sorted over the course of this week."

"Thank you." The situation resolved, she sat on the couch with a heavy sigh and closed her eyes.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously, and he motioned to the Maker's Mark box on the coffee table.

"Sure." The reply came from her impulsively, as she was surprised to be offered alcohol. Then she realized it should not be such a strange thing; she was, after all, well beyond being a minor, even if only technically. Certainly from a strictly physical standpoint, she looked just about of legal drinking age.

Adam returned from the kitchen with two old-fashioned glasses, and set them on the table with a gentle clack as he took the bottle of honey-amber liquid out of the box. His guest watched him in silence as he sat at the other end of the couch and broke the solid coating of signature red wax overtop the cap. He perfectly poured two ounces into each glass, the precision something he had attained with much previous practice.

He held out a glass for her, but when she reached to accept it, he pulled back. "Aren't you worried about me taking advantage of you by getting you drunk?"

Her eyes were locked on his shades. "Are you going to?"

"No."

She allowed a ghost of a smile and leaned forward to take her glass. "I didn't think so either."

Adam might have smirked, or maybe it was just Maia's imagination.

She swirled the liquid within the glass and put her nose to it tentatively. It had an alluringly sweet smell: caramel with wood and spice. She tipped the glass and drank. The burn of the spirits was stronger than she had expected, making her unexpectedly gulp it all down quickly and cough in response, before finishing with making a face.

"First time with whiskey?" This time Maia was certain Adam was smirking. She coughed a few more times before glowering at him, but he paid her no mind and casually focused on his own drink, sipping it as easily as cream.

She contemplated the taste as it sank into her mouth and evolved. As the shock of the fire died down, dark cinnamon flowered and warmed her from within. Fascinated, she ran her tongue around inside her cheeks, poking it out to skim her upper lip before finishing the rest of her glass.

"It's not bad," she concluded, exhaling through parted lips as the heat traveled down her throat again. She looked at Adam sip his own drink and wondered if the taste was any different for him, as a man—rather, a cybernetic man.

She cradled her empty glass in both hands like it was a baby bird. The tranquil air of the apartment combined with the bourbon glowing inside her begged her to say something. When she did start speaking, she was surprised to find that she liked it.

"I grew up in Toronto, but hardly ever left there—not without my parents, anyway. Even when I got scholarships to university, it took a lot of convincing to get them to allow me to live away from home to attend. My mom said it was just too dangerous for a young girl to be alone in another city. I thought my dad would be on my side, but even he wasn't keen on the idea. I got angry and asked him what the point was of all that training he'd given me if I was going to be kept at home all the time." She stopped briefly. "They both looked sad when I said that. Are your parents still—?"

She deliberately did not finish her sentence; it felt taboo to say the last few words.

"No. Almost ten years ago now, both of them. Like I said, Michelle's the only family left for me."

"Right." Maia's voice was soft and dark, much like the whiskey. "When I was talking to Aunt Michelle at Fairview, you heard everything?"

"Yeah."

"I keep thinking about what she said, but it's so hard to try to even make sense of it. She said that my parents wanted me even if it meant breaking all the rules—but I don't know what that means."

"Were their parents against their marriage?"

"No, everyone approved, they were happy. They had trouble having me, but..." Her eyes went to the pale cyan glow of the candelabra lamp on the table. "Mom and dad went through lots of fertility treatments. They were both only children, so they really wanted kids, but in the end all they could have was me. She once—" she paused, then smiled sadly at the recollection of a precious memory.

"She once what?" Adam asked.

"Maybe I'll tell you some other time."

He nodded in understanding. "What'll you do now?"

She poked her tongue at the inside of her cheek and stared at the giant TV screen, a faint apparition of her and him reflecting in the blackness. The warmth of the alcohol was expanding within her in a soothing way. "Settle in somewhere, I guess. Get ID, try to find work, a place to live, et cetera." Stating her own objective in such a way was tiring, she found. She winced and let out a small breath.

The fabric of Adam's clothes sighed as he shifted in his seat. "You okay?"

"Fine, just a bit sore."

He set his glass on the table and stood up. "Listen, I need to go out for a bit—got an errand to run. I won't be gone too long."

Curiosity was in the grey eyes that looked at him. "You're not going to tell me to not leave this room or lock me up in the bedroom?"

"You're my guest, not my prisoner. And I think you're smart enough not to try going out alone without any way for me to contact you."

"I won't make that mistake anymore," she said somberly.

"Good. Try to get some rest."

* * *

><p>It took some time to get to the Straylight, a bar located in the East side of Detroit, but it was the agreed upon location for a more private meeting. DPD preferred hanging out at Maggie's, which was within a stone's throw from the station.<p>

Nicholas DeCasper was dressed in civilian clothing, but still felt nervous about being recognized as a cop. When a large hand clapped his shoulder from behind he nearly knocked his beer over.

"Jesus, Jensen, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The cybernetic man, always so intimidating (and a little awe-inspiring, DeCasper secretly thought) sat down beside him at the bar.

"You're still young, Nicky, I doubt you'd have to worry about a heart attack."

"Hey, you never know, crazy shit happens all the time." The younger man motioned to the bartender for another beer.

Straylight was less populated than the good old sports bar that Maggie's was, but far more impressive. All sharp angles and geometric shapes, the design was dominated by slick black surfaces and electric shades of blue, making for a stylish niche of sapphire and Lucite. The customers that were present were young, attractive and completely absorbed in their own company, and conversations did not travel past a three-foot radius thanks to the languid house music coming from the speakers.

"This is a swanky place and all, Jensen, but it kinda makes me feel almost like we're on a date or something."

Adam lifted his glass and took a sip of his beer as he deadpanned, "You may have bought me a drink, Nicky, but it takes more than that to get me to go home with someone."

The embarrassed horror on DeCasper's face was priceless and Adam could not hold back a chuckle. "Relax, Nicky, I'm just messing with you. I just chose this place 'cause I've been here once and you're not likely to run into any coworkers after hours here."

"Yeah, that's for sure."

Adam lowered his glass onto the counter. "Thanks for taking the call last night."

"Hey, all I did was show up to a crime scene—you did all the hard work."

"Can you fill me in?"

DeCasper downed the rest of his beer and blew out a hard breath. "When I got there it was seven men unconscious; only one, Jesse Lane, was a natch, and he's in our custody, but won't talk to anyone. He's got some stunts under his belt, but probably won't be staying with us for long. The Bangers'll be with us a bit more for possession of unregistered firearms and other fun stuff; Fester aka Daniel Menard will get even longer for some other counts of assault and robbery. Strange thing is, apparently the last few minutes of the Bangers' memories before they were knocked out are curiously blank, as if someone hacked their retinal recordings and erased them."

He deliberately let each word of his last sentence linger, though Adam showed no reaction. DeCasper waited for a beat, then ordered another round.

"For lack of any better explanation, some of those Bangers think Jesse and his pals attacked them, which just shows how rattled their brains still are right now. But here's the thing: Jesse's friends with Roland Deckland. The son of the shipping magnate. We found Ro's ID and positively ID'd his blood at the scene. Deckland refused to comment on where his son is, but he hasn't checked into any hospitals."

DeCasper tried to see Adam's eyes through the darkness of his shades. His voice dropped to hushed tones. "Everyone on the force knows about Deckland and his son, Jensen. We all know the things he's done—Hell, _you_ must've heard some shit too. There was someone else there last night, wasn't there, Jensen? A woman—that caught Ro's eye."

_She did more than _catch_ his eye_, Adam thought to himself.

"_Goddammit_, Jensen, if you know where she is, you need get her to come in. It'd be a solid case of self-defense, open and shut—"

"_If_ that were the case," Adam interrupted tersely, "and an anti-aug like Ro went on trial with Bangers involved, it'd gather more than a bit of media attention. Not to mention you and I both know people like the Decklands always manage to slip away from court justice."

DeCasper's expression softened, and both men were silent for a while, nursing their drinks.

"Well, Jensen... I guess you'd have pretty good reason to go to these lengths to hide this person."

"I realize shit has been stepped in by hurting Ro Deckland. But we both know the stories about girls who try to testify against him. They either back down or disappear entirely. I can't let that happen here."

The younger officer tipped his glass, watched the beer's foam slide down the sides, and nodded to himself. "Okay. Lucky for us both, McCann doesn't feel like digging too deep into the identity of our mystery girl, so as long as she doesn't get into any more trouble, she should be fine. I'll keep you updated if anything happens with the Decklands."

"Thanks, Nicky. I should get going now." Adam got up from his seat and swiftly paid for their drinks. "I owe you one."

"Yeah, you do. But stay on your toes—it might not be long before I need to call it in. Shit's been busy nonstop these days and it's tough to keep up."

"Let me know when you need me. Take care, Nicky."

* * *

><p>There was not much worry in Adam's mind as he made his way back home. Before leaving the Chiron earlier, he had tapped into its security camera feed, so he would have known the second Maia tried to leave through the lobby. There was, of course, the remote possibility she might try to sneak out by other means, but considering Adam's room was on the seventeenth floor, that was highly unlikely. And the bourbon hopefully served to mellow her out.<p>

So why did he have this little nagging feeling in the back of his head like a pebble in his shoe? Why an anxiety to confirm she was still there as soon as possible?

When he had first learned of Michelle Walthers and her connection to him, he was too shocked to feel anything else. And as much as her revelations about his origins had been just another lead weight to crush him on top of all the other bombshells he had taken, he did feel elation upon learning that he still had family left in the world.

As much as Adam knew it was not prudent to get his hopes up too much, too early, he could not help the thought that it would mean so much to him if that number now went up by one.

A soft landing on the Chiron's helipad, and he took the stairs down to his floor.

_"Welcome home, Mr. Jensen."_ In the living room, the TV was on, playing late night infomercials. Maia was still sitting on the couch, but her head slumped to the side, she being fast asleep. She had changed her clothing to loose-fitting lounge pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt; an ebook lay in her hand across her lap. In the kitchen, the two glasses that had served their bourbon were cleaned and drip-drying on the rack.

Adam walked over to the couch, not loudly but not as quietly as possible, either; he was correct in his estimation that his guest would not wake. He turned the TV off and put the ebook aside before lifted her up and carrying her to the bedroom. Carefully he lowered her to the mattress and pulled the covers over her, and was about to stand when something pulled him back down.

Her seeking hands had found his forearm and grabbed on, hugging it close to her. For a second he thought that Maia had woken up, but her eyes remained closed and her breathing even. She shifted slightly and her face touched the back of his hand, and her hands circled his arm further to get a more secure grip. She has no idea how close she has brought his face to hers, that if she awakened now she might actually be able to see his eyes past the dark material of his shades. Adam moved a stray bit of hair away from the girl's cheek, and her lips pressed and unpressed against each other in response, as though pleased with the touch she had felt. Her grip loosened on his arm, he slid it free and left the room, closing the door with no sound.

Sitting on the couch, he allowed himself a strange sigh that he could not fully interpret, and soon sleep claimed him.

* * *

><p>Sarif waited until late morning to have Adam and Maia come in to his office. <em>Too early and she'd be tired and unwilling to make a decision. Too late and she might've had enough time to think of somewhere else.<em> No, she needed to be rested yet have this be the first option offered to her.

When Adam entered Sarif's office with Maia, he was not surprised to see Pritchard, but Malik as well? His antennae went up. A portion of his mind did commit the sight of Malik to memory, as it was not often he saw her out of her flight suit and in civilian clothes. Weathered jeans, white t-shirt and a vintage leather jacket—a very "Malik" look that suited her. The pilot gave a smile and "morning" to Maia, which she returned good-naturedly.

"So now that we're all here," Sarif said, "let's get started. Frank?"

Pritchard stepped forward as he looked at his tablet computer. "Seems like whoever detonated the stasis pod armed the explosive only after the pod was confirmed empty and deactivated. On top of that there was a hidden proximity sensor that scanned the area to ensure there were no people within the blast radius. Quite a safety-conscious person."

"Were you able to trace this guy?" Adam asked.

"_Not yet_, thanks for asking."

Malik wore a concerned look, but remained composed with her hands on her hips. "Should we be worried that this guy might be trying to find this place and come breaking the door down?"

Sarif pointed a finger at the pilot with his prosthetic hand. "We're _not_ letting that happen again. We can't help a bit of media coverage, but I talked to our guys in PR, and they're going with the story that it was a lab accident; Captain Penn will back us up on it. The nice thing about having a corrupt police captain is you can rent him yourself from time to time. Now, moving on to our next issue. Maia, we still haven't been able to dig up a whole lot on your parents or your past, and frankly, at this point I wouldn't hold out much hope for it. Not to mention we've got this whole pod explosion mess to clean up, so that's kind of the priority right now."

The older man held Maia's gaze firmly, and she nodded, feeling small and powerless.

"But this matter of someone apparently knowing about your specific pod and blowing it up? That complicates things. You could go on the run, but you're still new to this world, and without any ID it'll be hard for you to get around or get work, and your money won't last forever. So, how about you come work for me?"

_"What?"_ Maia's eyes had gone wide at the suggestion, but it was Adam who made the exclamation, not her.

"Hear me out. We'll say you're the daughter of an old friend of mine, and I'm hiring you as my junior assistant. It'd be standard office work, but the pay's decent, and you'll get your own apartment in the Chiron and the first three year's lease paid for. This way you can stay close to us and we'll be able to protect you. When you were here the last time, did you tell Wayne Haas who you are? The security guard."

"I remember," Maia said. "I didn't say anything to him."

Sarif nodded with a confident smile—clearly he had anticipated this. "This is why we're all here. Aside from Bancroft and Ishikawa, the people in this room are the only ones who know who you really are."

"What about the two security guards who saw her when she'd just come out of stasis?" Adam cut in.

"They don't know for how _long_ she was in stasis, or where we found her," Sarif countered. He focused on Maia again. "The story will be that you were sick for a while, hence the stasis, and having been cured, I woke you up. It's a fairly common thing these days, especially for the rich, so it'll hold up."

Maia's brows furrowed as she considered Sarif's proposition. She _had_ intended on setting off on her own to settle into a life somewhere—she was confident she could do it, even with her lack of experience. But that was before she had learned there was someone out there that knew of her existence and was bent on destroying any evidence of it. And while she was more than a competent fighter and quick and careful with her gun and knife, the run-in with the augmented thugs two nights ago were a sobering reminder that her flesh and blood strength may not be enough. She pushed her peripheral vision to the breaking point to see if she could catch any useful sign from Adam, but came up empty.

"Mr. Sarif, your offer—"

"Please, call me David."

_"David,"_ Maia corrected, "Your offer is generous—_very_ generous; so I have to wonder, what's the catch?"

The older man gave a wry smile. Straight to the point, he liked that very much in a person. He held out his arms in a gesture that was something between a shrug and a scale balancing weights. "I'll be honest: I'm intrigued by you, Maia. Prodigal child who was then hidden in a forest to sleep for twenty-four years for us to find? It's like something out of a fairy tale. But I see you as more than a novelty. If you had graduated university at the age of ten, you should easily be able to handle administrative assistant work; Athene's been saying lately she could use some help, as it happens, and the truth is we're currently swamped with stuff that needs to get done. We'd also like to use the data collected from your stasis pod for our own work on cryogenics, and continue to monitor your health and recovery to see if we find anything useful for medical research—same as we would for anyone taking part in clinical trials."

Maia sucked on her teeth as she regarded Sarif. She imagined him to be the type of man that her mother would have had much experience in dealing with, but her father would be extremely wary of. But at least Sarif had the decency to tell the truth about seeing her as a curiosity. And the offer of employment plus her own place to live was undeniably an attractive one.

There were only a few seconds of silence before there was a reply: "Okay. I'll work for you." The words resonated in her chest like a church bell. Maia felt Adam's scrutiny, but she refused to turn her head away from Sarif. It seemed unwise to do so.

For his part, the industrialist could not look more pleased. "Great! Then it's settled. You'll be starting tomorrow." He looked over to Pritchard, who wordlessly handed over a manila envelope. "Here's your credentials," Sarif said, giving Maia the packet. "Corporate passport, which we'll have to get encoded with your biometrics, ID, false background, the works. Your name will be the same, but we obviously had to change your parents' info and your birth year to better match your appearance. Now, Farida's agreed to show you around the building a bit, and at the end of that you'll meet Frank in his office so he can take your biometric data." He shortened the gap between him and the younger woman and held out his hand, shiny and regal like a knight's. "Welcome to Sarif Industries, Maia Keeler."

His enthusiasm was a little infectious, and she found herself giving up a tiny smile. "Thank you... David," she said with emphasis, and shook his hand firmly with her own.

* * *

><p>Maia, Malik and Pritchard had all left to go about their business, and now it was just Adam and Sarif in the office.<p>

"What the _Hell_ are you playing at, Sarif?"

Adam's voice was low and dangerous; the ire had had plenty of time to build up during his silence earlier, and now it was near impossible to not come across as threatening.

There were many people who would have caved from the tone the cybernetic man spoke with, but Sarif was not one of them. "I'm not _playing_ at anything, Adam. Everything's out in the open."

"After everything that's happened, do you really expect me to just trust you on this?"

"I'm fully aware of where your distrust comes from, Adam, but in this case, what I told Maia was the truth. She interests me, and I think she'd also be an effective part of this company."

"And it just so happens that the apartment next-door to mine is the one that she gets?"

"It was vacant, so yeah, that's the one she gets. And do you know _why_, Adam? Ever since the shit you pulled at Panchaea, the pro-humanist presence that was annoying before has become _suffocating_ now. Between death threats, assaults on the street and losses of their own friends and family from the biochip crisis, we've had a lot of employees take leaves of absence or just straight-up quit on us! And it's not just this company, either—Tai Yong, Mert International, Cy-Pro, Insight? They're all hemorrhaging because of your choice!"

"We both know you and Tai Yong are going to survive this," Adam replied, moving closer to the windows. The smartglass was kept a few shades dark to shield the office from the harsh daylight, but it still made looking directly at Adam harder to do for Sarif.

"Of course we will," Sarif said with stony resolve. It was such an obvious statement, Adam may as well have asked him if the sun was hot and water was wet. "This company is my creation, and I'll be damned if I let it fall. I know you made your choice because at least in some small part you wanted to punish me. And I deserve it, I admit that. But companies are made up of _people_, Adam. Thousands of people's jobs depend of Sarif Industries, and tens—hundreds, of _thousands_ more, have had their lives changed for the better because of our work. I intend to keep doing that."

He walked up to the window and faced the vista of the Motor City, once decrepit and derelict, now greatly rejuvenated largely thanks to his contributions. But it was still not enough. More of it could, should and would be improved.

"What do you think of her, Adam?"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Maia. You've spent the most time with her out of anyone. Does she strike you as a corporate spy, a Belltower sleeper agent, anything like that?"

_Crazy is normal._ After being faced with so many Earth-shatteringly huge pieces of knowledge over the past year, it had become difficult for Adam to be surprised by anything since. Aliens existing at Area 51? Sure. The threat of world domination via man-machine hybrid super-being? Why the Hell not. But the idea of Maia being a spy... She did have the skills of a killer, as evidenced by the brutal state in which she had left those men in the alley, but they clashed, fascinatingly so, like fire and ice, with the passing glimpses he'd caught of her vulnerability. And her being sealed off from the world over the last twenty years meant she had nothing to gain by deceiving him. It was easier to picture Pritchard as a punk rock star. Less aesthetically pleasing, though.

"No, she doesn't," Adam replied. "I saw the blanket of dust on everything, smelled the stale air at the site where I found her. No one had been there in ages."

"So do you trust her?"

Adam made a face as though he tasted something bitter. A part of him was annoyed by this interrogation and he wanted to stay silent, but he knew he was just as interested as Sarif in knowing the answers to the questions. "I believe her when she says she doesn't know the full reason for why she was put in stasis," he said finally.

"Your CASIE says she hasn't lied?"

"CASIE's not foolproof."

"The point is she's still a mystery to us. Remember, Adam, that she accepted my offer of her own free will. And I notice you didn't once try to stop her, why is that? Because you want her to stick around just as much as I do; you want to solve the puzzle surrounding her. I'll bet it's even occurred to you that there's a possibility you two might be related somehow."

It was quiet enough for them both to hear Adam's synthetic hand squeeze into a tight fist.

"I assume you're already testing her DNA against mine."

Sarif did his best to avoid looking smug. "We'll have the results in a few days. I'll forward you the results."

* * *

><p>It was little surprise to Adam that by the time he and Maia had returned to the Chiron, her apartment was tidied up and ready to be lived in. The furnishings were simpler than those in Adam's room, and the TV was smaller, but Maia still remained impressed as she took in the view of her new home with wide eyes. The layout was the exact same as Adam's room, only mirrored so that the kitchen was on the right upon entry, and the bedroom accessed by the left end. The furniture was all still brand new out of their packaging, smelling freshly of plastic wrap and cardboard box dust.<p>

It reminded Adam of the first time he had come to his new home at Chiron. There had been nothing of him there yet, just sealed boxes of his things stacked amongst tasteful chairs, tables and dressers chosen by some faceless interior decorator.

The condominium he had once shared with Megan was cramped and the bedroom window boasted the uninterrupted view of a brick wall, but they had managed to carve out a home that they loved with their own personal touches. A framed print of Paris and the Eiffel tower on the wall, beginner's level cookbooks, matching blue and pink kitty fridge magnets, various flavours of gourmet coffee, and scribble-filled notebooks and chewed-up pens scattered everywhere; that was what Megan brought in. Adam was impressive tomes on Leonardo Da Vinci, free weights, a juicer, a Montreal Canadiens hockey jersey, a sketchbook, and a Galileo thermometer. This mix of items, along with Kubrick and his many chew toys, made the recipe for an abode that was truly lived in, and was no one else's but theirs.

When Adam had smashed the bathroom mirror in the Chiron, he had expected, _wanted_, to bleed, to see broken skin. It was what was supposed to happen after a fist hit glass. But he would never have that again, of course. And when he had retracted his hand from the destroyed mirror, he saw that he had dented the wall behind it as well. There was hardly a scratch on the black sheen of his synthetic knuckles, and the glaring pain that should have been there was as marginal as if he had been merely hit by a stick. He had not bothered to clean up the broken glass littering the counter and floor that night, for there was no longer any worry of cutting his feet or hands. After downing some painkillers prescribed to him and dragged himself out of the bathroom, a part of his mind had gleaned some satisfaction from knowing that at least now there was something in the apartment that was put there by _him_.

After moving the clothing and personal items Maia had bought from Adam's room to hers, he showed her how to program the lock on her door. When he told her the code to his place, he got a surprised frown.

"Just in case," he explained.

"Okay."

Next was her cell phone, plus a tiny handsfree headset which resembled a sleek, stylized earring more than the headsets she remembered from her era.

"I added some more numbers to it—Sarif, Pritchard, Malik, and Athene's."

"And yours."

He tilted his head. "That was already there."

"I know, I listed you as my emergency contact on the employee information form."

Adam found himself liking this conversation, as trivial as it was. It was easy to talk about subjects that were not related to corporate conspiracies and the cyberization of humanity. "That in addition to neighbour and coworker? We've only known each other for three days, wouldn't want to rush this relationship."

The last word made Maia blink, but she did not linger on her reaction, and gave a modest smirk, which Adam returned.

He then held up the attaché case, the last item of hers from his room. Maia took the case and held it to her chest preciously. Her wrists peeked out from the hem of her jacket, the bruises a dull yellow.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Adam said.

"Yeah. Thanks for letting me stay with you." She fidgeted a little before stepping back over the threshold into her room. "Good night."

"Good night," he replied, watching the door slide shut between them.

When he was back in his own room, Adam's weary gaze swept over it like it as though searching for something out of place. It had been only three days that she had stayed here, but her absence now made the apartment feel larger and emptier. Logically though, he knew it would have felt that way no matter who had stayed with him; he had, after all, long since adapted to living alone.

A couple of drinks of bourbon later and he finally decided to sleep. When his head hit the pillow, the smell of Maia and her perfume floated into his nostrils. That primal part of his brain kicked into gear at the female scent, and Adam scowled as his penis swelled with blood. He turned to face the wall, as if doing so would make it easier to deny his urges as well as the source of them who was now living next door to him.

After several minutes of tossing and turning, he relented and made a half-hearted effort at masturbating. The dim and damp theater of his imagination went through a random cavalcade of ex-girlfriends and attractive celebrities, each one morphing into the next to find the quickest, most efficient way to quenching this need. In the end it was Megan that did the trick; her sleek and sharp brows twisting as her facial features contorted from pleasure, pale skin flushed. His grip tightened, imagining it was her body he was encased in, and he passed the point of noncommittal undertaking at self-maintenance to focused, ardent desire. He saw her writhing beneath him, biting her fingers to hold back her voice, and when she finally gave in and her voice rang in his ears calling his name, he shuddered through clenched teeth as his came intensely.

Once his breathing slowed to normal, Adam got up and took a quick shower to clean up. After toweling himself dry he returned to the bed, sated but thoroughly annoyed.

* * *

><p><strong>***REVISED JUNE 27, 2012***<strong>

**Basically, I was writing chapter 11 and realized the first chunk fit better in the ending bit of chapter 10, so here's this little extra section of character exploration for those who have already read it (I'm sorry). -_-**

**Adam having a Habs jersey is a direct reference to Adam's voice actor Elias Toufexis being a huge Habs fan. **

**FYI: Mert International, Cy-Pro Clinical, and Insight Manufacturing are the names of other biotech firms mentioned in an email from Arie van Bruggen to a hacker buddy of his that Zhao had ordered him to target the financial records of. In other words, she had intended for him to do the same to those companies as they had done to SI. The email can be read on a computer in the upper section of TYM. You will hear more about these companies in future chapters. :)**

**Stay tuned for next chapter, "The Devil Wears Augments." (j/k)**

**As usual, please review! It's how I keep going on.**


	11. Sicilian Defense

**Chapter 11: Sicilian Defence**

_"It is not the strongest or the most intelligent who will survive but those who can best manage change." __-Charles Darwin_

* * *

><p>The work week had certainly gotten off to an interesting start.<p>

Athene had her eyebrows raised when Sarif introduced her to Maia first thing Monday morning. It was true she had mentioned to David that she could use some extra help, but this?

For a moment she wondered if the girl was hired only because she was dating Sarif, but then Athene reasoned that David was not the type to give jobs to women he dated, nor did he go out with women young enough to be his own daughter. No, David was a good, decent man, giving a great employment opportunity to the daughter of an old friend, simple as that.

In any case it was a welcome relief for Athene that Maia was a competent employee. Strangely enough she seemed the most wary of the technology they used, such as their computers and pocket secretaries, even though younger generations were always so tech-savvy. She also sounded ignorant of current cultural events, but then again, David had told Athene in an aside that Maia had led a relatively sheltered life overseas for many years.

What did bother Athene was Maia's seeming indifference regarding augmentation. While the young woman was not opposed to the technology, she did not share the proper passion in favour of it, as any Sarif Industries employee ought to have.

Well, all this meant was Athene would have to keep an extra-watchful eye on the new girl to make sure she was not trying to take advantage of David's kindness and generosity.

* * *

><p><em>ANNOUNCEMENT<em>

_FROM: DAVID SARIF_

_TO: SI GLOBAL_

_Good morning, everyone,_

_As you may be aware, we had an explosion in the science labs over the weekend. The cause was accidental, likely due to faulty electrical wiring in an old stasis pod that was being researched. Thankfully there have been no casualties, and cleanup is already almost finished. Let's just take this in as a reminder to always have safety in the workplace in mind._

_As usual, since this matter involves research on an active project, you are not to disclose details of this with non-employees._

_David_

* * *

><p><em>UPDATED SECURITY MEASURES<em>

_FROM: FRANK PRITCHARD_

_TO: SI GLOBAL_

_*******IMPORTANT*******_

_To all employees,_

_This is to inform you that company security measures have been updated with the following:_

_*All company computers must now have login passwords that are a minimum of 6 characters and include at least 1 number. _

_*Do NOT write down your passwords and leave them in plain sight (I shouldn't have to keep reminding you of this)._

_*Stop emailing/messaging your passwords to coworkers._

_And before you go sending me angry emails saying how these measures are too complicated or whatever, TRY to bear in your minds that by having basic rules such as these, they protect not only yourselves, but this company as well. So unless you want corporate thieves or snooping heads of security to go through your stuff, you'd better make sure you learn to remember a longer, more complex password than a monosyllabic word._

_Frank Pritchard_

_Chief of Network Security_

_Sarif Industries_

* * *

><p>The duties Maia performed were standard office fare: handling mail, copying and editing documents, restocking supplies, sending emails and running general errands for Sarif and Athene. The top priority tasks were handled by Athene herself of course, but sometimes Maia was made to help with the overflow, calling clients, making reservations, and organizing Sarif's schedule.<p>

Maia knew Athene was frequently watching her, no doubt expecting the new blood's attitude to sour once the gravity of the hard work hit her. It was definitely a full-time job, and she did feel a little nervous the first few times she spoke with high-end executives over the phone, but truth be told she was relishing it. Immersed in her pocket secretary, while making calls on her handsfree, she was the very image of an adult urban professional. She was taken seriously, and the tasks she performed resonated as significant to her peers rather than frustratingly impotent like they tended to when she was younger.

The rigid structure of corporate life afforded her a certain kind of stability and normality that was comforting, and she was learning all the time, whether it was the names of the board members at Mert International or the way Sarif liked his coffee (one sugar, two soy milks).

Maybe, just maybe, it seemed like a life that she could settle into.

* * *

><p><em>NEW POD DATA<em>

_FROM: AARON FINSTAD_

_TO: DAVID SARIF_

_David,_

_That stasis pod you discovered was a real find-there were countless modifications and innovations to that thing that put today's current models to shame! I'd say it's enough to let us be world contenders for the number 1 spot in cryogenics! _

_Within a month or two we should be able to implement its features into our own models and test within a month after that. It's great for us that Pritchard managed to save that data!_

_Aaron Finstad_

_Chief of Cryogenics_

_Sarif Industries_

* * *

><p>Contrary to what some people believed, Sarif was not a man unaware of his public image. He knew there were those that interpreted his direct manner and speaking style as indicators of an uncomplicated man; a cavalier boor who was on borrowed time and would inevitably be swallowed up by the behemoth that was Tai Yong Medical. In fact he enjoyed being the underdog, and was proud of being able to continue proving his detractors wrong. To be underestimated meant it would be that much more crushing to your enemies when you defeated them, and Sarif believed it added to the image of his company as well as the city of Detroit itself of rising high above expectations.<p>

Though Sarif had never married or had children of his own, what he felt for his company was, he knew, akin to the bond a parent had to offspring. So much of his life had gone into Sarif Industries, and it had grown incredibly as a reflection of his efforts, eventually became an entity of its own.

Considering that, it was not so surprising how he had taken such a liking to Adam when he first learned of him through Megan Reed. From a PR standpoint, Sarif had already been entertained by the idea of hiring a pariah, but upon going through Adam's background, all other candidates had quickly paled in comparison. A blue-collar guy working his way up through the police ranks with stellar performance reports and achievements, willing to do the right thing no matter what the cost? If that was not an example of virtuous character, Sarif could not say what was.

And while Adam was not an adamant supporter of augmentations, he was not against them either, and Sarif had appreciated the ex-cop's honesty when he had told him so in an interview. It was good to have a critical, independent mind that could perceive things without bias, unlike the multitude of former military grunts that made up much of the private sector, so burned-out and embittered as a result of the Recycle Military Bill.

The real turn had come when the Tyrants had attacked Sarif Industries. With every augmentation that was merged into Adam's body, replacing and enhancing his flesh with mechanical parts and computer programming, Sarif could picture the younger man truly becoming like his own son. Hell, his own name was imprinted onto Adam's prosthetic parts and internal augments; the man was every bit as part of Sarif as his own company was.

Sarif had no plans of his company staying the underdog forever. Stagnation was always a bad idea, not to mention boring. While he had doubts as to whether new Tai Yong CEO Alexander Liu was as cutthroat as his predecessor, he knew he could not be complacent. Tai Yong was still the top augmentation corporation in the world despite its recent mishaps, and would surely cover up the details of its production of the "faulty" biochips and mysterious death of Zhao Yun Ru in no time.

No, if Sarif wanted his company to stand at the top of the world, he had to be willing to do whatever it took.

It was all about survival of the fittest.

* * *

><p><em>RE: UPDATED SECURITY MEASURES<em>

_FROM: ADAM JENSEN_

_TO: FRANK PRITCHARD_

_"Snooping heads of security"? If I didn't know any better, Francis, I'd say you were accusing me of something, and that hurts._

_By the way, your latest show pitch to Picus TV, "NodeMaster," still sounds too similar to your previous concepts of a genius hacker's digital adventures._

_Adam Jensen_

_Chief of Security_

_Sarif Industries_

* * *

><p><em>PRO-AUG GROUP SUPPORT<em>

_FROM: DAVID SARIF_

_TO: LYLE ROGERS_

_Lyle,_

_Get in contact with Jennifer Ray and her people. I want them to know that Sarif Industries is behind them and is willing to back Provectus and other pro-aug groups in their endeavours. _

_Start off with a donation of $25,000 to Provectus, to get the ball rolling. _

_And for God's sake, come up with some good angle we can pitch to the public to improve our image. That IS your job, after all._

_David_

* * *

><p><em>"All right, Jensen, we're gonna try a stationary test one more time, you good?"<em>

Underwater, linked up to monitoring cables, Adam raised his hand above the surface to give a thumbs-up.

In addition to the Cheetah Drive and Grasshopper Jump systems, recent months had seen Adam outfitted with the Triton, an extension for his rebreather implant. Since none of them required any real physical augmentation, just minor adjustments and software installations, Adam saw little reason to turn the additions down.

Testing for the Cheetah was simple enough—Adam had broken numerous sprinting records in the process as he shot around the running track like a bullet-but the Triton required a more specialized environment. During the day, the pool at Sarif Industries was used primarily for product testing, and opened up for employee use at night. Currently it was closed to off to all except Adam, Dr. Eric Koss, and a handful of scientists. Two assistants in scuba gear hovered on either side of Adam, one holding a mask hooked up to an air supply over Adam's face.

_"Any time you're ready,_" Koss said to Adam through his Infolink.

Adam motioned to the assistant beside him, who removed the mask and backed away. A couple of gentle waves of his arms, and Adam made his way to the bottom of the pool, where he would stay. Weights had been attached to him to prevent his natural buoyancy from interfering with the test.

It was a weird feeling at first, the inside of his chest tickling as his lungs filled with newly-converted oxygen, but by now Adam was quite at ease with it. Half-lying, half-standing at the bottom of the pool looking up, he saw with unshaded eyes the ceiling and floodlights ripple and dance beyond the water's surface while stray bubbles wriggled up and away from him.

Waiting in the blue depths while Koss and his team analyzed him, Adam's focus drifted elsewhere.

_The sea. Stormy grey skies and choppy waves. Rifleman Bank Station._

Since rescuing Tiffany Kavanagh and Gary Savage from the underwater facility, Adam had not heard from them once. Not that he had expected to. Two months ago, TV networks and news stations around the world had been sent a package of data detailing Belltower's unlawful imprisonment of hundreds of innocent civilians who were then used in horrific scientific experiments. The evidence provided along with the accounts of the two anonymous sources had been compelling enough to make world news, but without any living testimony from the prisoners themselves, the case was being dismissed by Belltower, as well as Tai Yong Medical, as an elaborate smear campaign.

But there were enough skeptics in the world that refused to let go of the issue. Friends and families of the prisoners responded heatedly when they saw a name they knew in the long list the anonymous sources had provided. The voices gained traction and demanded a formal investigation.

Even with Tai Yong's backing and its own political influence, Belltower was in an uncomfortable spot. It would not surprise Adam if the company managed to slip through justice's fingers-they were the type that always did-but he still wanted to hope that this would be the thing that brought them down.

It would not make up for his failure to save the prisoners, but it would be a good start.

_"...sen. Jensen? It's been twenty minutes now, let's call it, okay?"_

Adam came out of his train of thought. He signaled acknowledgment to the assistants, then lightly pushed off the pool floor to swim back up. He had been submerged for so long that the water had become totally still, making the surface as clear as glass. As he approached it, Adam briefly entertained the thought of the surface as a portal that would take him to a different world.

The assistants were already removing their gear when Adam climbed out of the pool. They knew he did not need their help.

Koss could hardly contain his excitement as he brought over a towel. "Wow, Jensen, that was great! All signs show there were no problems, CO2 conversion was flawless! How did you feel?"

Adam unstrapped the weights from his ankles and let them drop to the floor with a low _thunk_. He took the towel and lightly swept his face. "Same as I do when using the rebreather against toxic gases. Aside from the air I get feeling humid and kind of stale, it's fine."

Koss nodded. "We'll work on fine-tuning that."

There was a wary silence between the two as Adam removed the monitoring sensors and cables hooked up to him. Clad in only black swim trunks, The rest of Adam's body was visible, an ever-impressive fusion of prosthetic technology and peak physical fitness. A walking weapon if ever there was one.

"How have you been holding up, Dr. Koss?"

Like a plucked guitar string, Koss' voice quavered a little out of anxiety. "Uh, fine. You know, back to the grind, people now knowing that I wasn't dead all along, it's all good. You know, Dr. Faherty and I, we missed you at Vasili's funeral."

Adam tossed the towel onto a nearby table. "Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to that. Too busy."

"No, yeah, I get it, understandable. Have... You've heard about Nia, right?"

"I saw her the day she left. She said she was moving back home to Georgia for a while. Parents and sisters there."

Koss pulled a pained look on his face. "I tried talking to her-she went to those counselling sessions like the rest of us—but she just couldn't take it anymore."

"Can't really blame her," Adam said dryly, "you all had so many traumatic experiences already, only to come home to people thinking you're dead, riots, the biochip scandal—you could argue that you'd be crazy to keep working here."

Adam's tone may have been a bit deadpan, but that did not stop the assistants within earshot from noticeably slowing the speed of their tasks.

"Are we done here?"

Blinking, Koss recovered. "Oh, uh, yeah, we've got all the data, so you're free to go."

Adam headed off to the shower room without another word. It was only after the cybernetic man disappeared behind the walls that Koss realized Adam had avoided direct eye contact the whole time.

* * *

><p><em>YOUR ORDER<em>

_FROM: CHROMARKET CUSTOMER SERVICE_

_TO: FRANK PRITCHARD_

_Dear Frank,_

_This is to inform you that your order has been processed and will be shipped to your address shortly. _

_You have been charged for the following (2) items today:_

_- Gravity Rainbow [Import] - Rei Toei; audio CD_

_- Trongline SH 2501 LED Brake lights_

_Thanks for shopping at Chromarket!_

* * *

><p>Pritchard took a moment to pinch the space between his eyes. Sarif had ordered him to analyze the stasis pod with a fine-toothed comb for any clues, and the hacker had been at his task for hours on end.<p>

He had to admit to himself that whoever was responsible for programming the damn thing was not your average techie, but the combination of it being an older machine, not to mention going up against _Frank Pritchard_, meant that the security system yielding to him was merely a matter of time.

What had his attention was a hidden tracking system that allowed someone to remotely monitor the pod. A record of the device's activity showed periodic access from an as-of-yet untraceable location, consisting of scans and maintenance checks.

The pod had a sophisticated design that allowed it to leech power from multiple sources so that the usage was spread out and that much harder to detect. Strangely enough, the branches of siphons were so wide that the destruction of the substation closest to it should have had little to no effect on the pod. And it made even less sense for it to all of a sudden reroute the siphons to feed off of a single source, effectively revealing its existence.

Was it a malfunction? Pritchard thought so at first. But closer examination of the rerouting command revealed it had come from an outside source, along with the last order to activate the pod's self-destruct sequence. A self-destruct sequence that had the curious courtesy to scan both the pod and a small radius to confirm there were no bodies around before executing.

_Why take care of something so guardedly, only to get it noticed and then destroy it?_

Pritchard shook his head and got up to get a drink. He could not wrap his mind around the motivations for whoever was responsible. It was a big part of why he preferred computers, simple and knowable. People were too messy and difficult.

* * *

><p><em>REMINDER<em>

_FROM: ATHENE MARGOULIS_

_TO: MAIA KEELER_

_Maia,_

_When you've got David's dry cleaning, please pick up his lunch from the Jackdaw Cafe on Macomb Street. He likes to have a vegetarian meal at least once a week in an effort to be healthier, so get whatever vegetarian special they have for the day._

_Athene Margoulis_

_Executive Assistant_

_Sarif Industries_

* * *

><p>It was not often that Adam and Maia were in the same room together. In the mornings, Adam would usually meet her outside of her room at the Chiron and they would go to work. At her insistence, they would walk, and she would take the time to ask more questions about Sarif Industries and the state of the world. Again, Adam answered all of her questions, but when the subject turned to himself, he would subtly change the subject. He figured Maia must have noticed he was dodging her, but she had not yet pressed him on the matter.<p>

On the first day, he had noticed her studying the 3D map of the company building in the lobby fervently, then walking around the floors, eyeing security cameras and doors.

It amused him to see that she was doing recon on her own office of employment, wanting to know every entrance and exit. _She's really her father's daughter_, he thought to himself.

Sometimes they passed by each other as they went about their duties, but never had much time to talk beyond greetings. If Maia was not at her desk, she was with Sarif and Athene, and usually the matters she had to be with Sarif to tend to were not the same ones that required Adam's presence as well.

One afternoon, he had caught a glimpse of her outside, making small-talk with some of the other employees huddled around an ashtray as they had their smoke break. Adam's eyebrow went up when Maia's hand rose to reveal her own cigarette, the faint cherry glowing like a sniper's laser sight.

For a second he felt the urge to admonish her, but then he realized that was silly and old of him, and he left, not noticing she was watching him before mashing her cigarette out in the stainless steel bowl.

* * *

><p><em>RE: GPL IMPLANT<em>

_ FROM: KEN BANCROFT_

_TO: DAVID SARIF_

_David,_

_The GPL device has been successfully implanted into Maia. She wasn't at all scared about the procedure, but was very persistent in finding out the contents of the anaesthetic and wouldn't let us administer it to her until she could confirm it would not put her under. _

_On a side note, I can confirm that the bruises on her wrists have completely healed now—it's as if they were never there. _

_Maia mentioned she's been feeling restless, moody and experiencing lower abdominal pain. The fact that she was on the brink of puberty when she went into stasis combined with the extensive period of the stasis itself has resulted in a highly elevated hormone level in her blood. She appears to be doing her best to suppress her emotions, but this will only stress her out. I've recommended good exercise and looking into hobbies and anything that will help her relax. _

_I've forwarded a copy of the full report to you. Regarding the other issue, I'll tell you, Maia, and Adam in person, since it concerns him as well._

_Ken Bancroft_

_Chief of Medical Research Department_

_Sarif Industries_

_David Sarif [_freneticpony .det_] wrote:_

_Ken,_

_I'm sending Maia over to you to have her GPL implanted. Get it done asap. Let me know of any and every details regarding the procedure and Maia's behaviour._

_Also, have you got the results of her blood test yet?_

_-D_

* * *

><p>When the elevator door opened, Maia was already walking towards Sarif's office. Upon hearing him, she'd halted and waited for him to catch up, so that they entered the office together, where Sarif and Dr. Bancroft were already waiting for them.<p>

"Adam, Maia, glad you're both here," Sarif started.

Maia nodded. "David, Athene said that the meeting with Cy-Pro Clinical has been confirmed for two weeks from now."

"Great stuff, thank you. Now, let's get to the reason we're all here. Ken?"

Bancroft referred to his tablet computer. "Well, we finished some of the blood work on you, Maia, and we compared it against Adam's DNA. Verdict is, there's no familial match between you two; you have no relation whatsoever."

Adam felt Maia's eyes on him, but he only turned his head slightly in her direction. He was very still, in mind as well as body. It felt better to at least know something more about what Maia was to him, though he could not help a little disappointment at the fact that she was not family. Still, he was not too surprised. He could not see much physical resemblance between himself and her.

Sarif detected the tense silence between the two and broke in. "Well, too bad, I guess, but every bit of knowledge helps, right?" He placed a hand on Maia's shoulder reassuringly. "It's definitely better than remaining in the dark."

Maia forced a nod, fighting the instinct to back away from the physical contact.

With nothing more to add, she and the doctor then excused themselves to return to work, leaving the boss and head of security alone.

"So I hear our security updates are finished now," Sarif said.

"Motion detectors and password-protected bars inside all ventilation ducts directly linked to the outdoors, and Typhoon turrets installed in restricted areas. The turrets in front of the main entrance are outfitted with rubber bullets for riot control. And Pritchard's reinforced the network firewalls."

"Good."

"What else did that blood test tell you?"

A grudging look made its way across Sarif's face. He took his time in moving back to lean against his desk. "Well, I guess it goes without saying, but since she's not related to you, she doesn't have your special bond to augmentations. In fact, her compatibility with them would be average at best."

"So she's just a normal girl."

Sarif narrowed his eyes. "Come on, Adam, we're both smarter than that. She got attacked by those Bangers on what, Friday night, and by Monday her bruises were completely gone. I'm having Bancroft run more tests, but it looks like she has a healing factor that might even be beyond yours."

Adam did not miss seeing in Sarif's eye the same ambitious glint miners had when they saw the first hint of gold. "She's not a lab rat, Sarif."

"The tests we're doing on her are no different than what any stasis patient would get, Adam. We're just being extra thorough with the data we get. And like I just said, she wouldn't do great with augmentations anyway. Real shame, though, 'cause if she had them she could be beyond incredible."

Adam's jaw set. "She hardly needs them."

Sarif stared straight into Adam's eyes, past the shades, looking as if he were just waiting for the man to say that. "If it were just about _needs_, we'd be no different than machines, Adam. It's the _wants_ that really get us going."

* * *

><p><em> RE: FOR YOU<em>

_ FROM: FRANCIS PRITCHARD_

_ TO: FARIDAH MALIK_

_ You can fuck right off._

_Faridah Malik [fmalik .det] wrote:_

_Hey Geekboy, thought you might be interested in this:_

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><p>Adam was in his office going over condition of the security cameras, when Maia suddenly appeared at his door.<p>

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

From behind her back, Maia produced a can of Coke and walked over to place it on Adam's desk.

Adam shifted in his seat. "What's this for?"

Maia's eyes darted from the floor to various parts of furniture within the office before finally, guiltily, meeting Adam's shaded ones. "To pay you back. For the cigarette I stole from you," she muttered.

The corner of Adam's mouth pulled upwards in amusement. "Really? When was this?"

She recovered a little, tried to act more nonchalant. "The last night I stayed at your place; I took one when you weren't looking. I'm sorry. I didn't like it, though."

"You could've just asked."

"Would you have given me one?"

"They're not good for you."

"You should quit, then."

"I did, about eight years ago. But after this," he nodded to his prosthetic hand, "I felt like tapping into an old habit. Don't do it often, though; just doesn't feel the same as before."

She frowned and drew closer. "How's that?"

The lights danced across Adam's shades as he turned away from Maia. "The Sentinel Health system that's in me counteracts most damage that can be done to the body. It stops bleeding wounds and mends broken bones much faster than any person could manage. It also fights off the effects of nicotine and alcohol."

"So you can't get drunk?"

"I can, but only for a really short amount of time. The nice thing is that alcohol breaks down the fastest for the Sentinel, so it's good for a quick boost of energy."

Maia kept her gaze on him, trying hard to see past the dark shades. "It would've been a little inappropriate if I'd brought you a beer at work."

Adam cocked an eyebrow. "There's always after-hours."

Maia's eyes widened, then blinked. "I'm working late, though. Maybe some other time?" Then she leaned forward to put a bottle of mineral water on the desk next to the Coke can. "That was just in case you don't like soda," she explained with ample hand gestures, "but I figure you should have that too. It's better for you."

Without waiting for a response, she made a hasty retreat out of the office, her shoes clicking against the floor.

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><p><em>RE: A CONCERN<em>

_FROM: DAVID SARIF_

_TO: ATHENE MARGOULIS_

_Athene,_

_Don't worry about it, I'm sure Maia simply wants to learn about both sides equally. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," you know? I think that kind of thoroughness is a quality we should appreciate in an employee._

_David_

_Athene Margoulis [amargoulis .det] wrote:_

_David,_

_I'm a little concerned about Maia. Earlier today I saw her talking to some anti-aug protesters that were outside the building, and later when I passed by her desk I saw some Humanity Front pamphlets! I confronted her about them but she claims she was just curious. I had her throw them in the garbage. I just hope she doesn't let those Purity First goons put ideas into her head. _

_Athene Margoulis_

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><p>Despite her persisting cranky mood, Maia was grateful to be working at Sarif Industries for at least one reason: access to the shooting range.<p>

While generally reserved for weapons testing only, a select few were allowed to pop a few rounds off when it was not busy. Maia had been surprised when Sarif offered her access to the range out of the blue, considering she had not brought it up at all. But the moment the information sank in, she found herself nearly fidgeting with impatience to get a chance to brush up on her shooting.

Security guards made up the majority of the people that used the range recreationally, but currently the place was empty.

She had just finished firing the last round from her .45, Wayne Haas showed up at her side.

"Hi there," the guard said, exaggeratedly mouthing the words to make sure she understood him, as they were both wearing hearing protection.

Maia looked at him, but her hands still held the gun. "Hi."

Haas was roughly the same age as Adam if not younger from what she could tell, but his tense, stressed out expression and droopy eyes made him seem far older. It was tiring just to look at him.

Haas could not believe his luck, running into the new girl like this. It was hard enough as is to find her not occupied with some task, let alone have an opportunity to be alone with her.

He waited until they removed their ear muffs to speak. "So, you're uh, here to practice shooting, I guess?"

She hit the button by the side of her station to bring the target paper forward. "That's right."

"Is this your first time with a gun? If you like, I can-"

"No, it's not," she said while ejecting the magazine and sliding in a new one. Familiar sounds and motions that grounded her to the here and now.

The target paper fluttered to a stop in front of Maia, and she took a moment to check it before tearing it down. For a second Haas thought the girl had used a shotgun or rifle on the target before realizing that she had managed to expend all her rounds into the chest and head, with not a single shot missed.

"If you'll just give me a minute, I'm almost done here." A second sheet went up and moved to the back of the range while Maia did a quick check of her weapon, and Haas silently did the same.

Even if he had not seen the target paper, the gun itself was a sure sign of belonging to an experienced shooter. Maia's Springfield XD Tactical had a checkered takedown lever, slide lock, chamber indicator and mag release, polished feed ramp and captive spring rod end, high grip modification, and a hexagonal patterned grip made by a soldering iron. To add to that, the shooter's grip was high and solid, and it did not escape Haas' attention that she had excellent trigger discipline. Definitely not a beginner.

With her hearing protection back on, Maia steadied her stance, a motion which drew Haas' attention to her hips. It did not matter that she had an audience—she focused, slowed her breathing, and fired. She did not flinch. The paper flailed at the newly-formed hole in the target's head, right between where they eyes would be.

She remembered then, her first firing lesson with her father. She was seven years old at the time.

Three more shots, then what was left were used to double-tap the chest and punch a third round into the head-a perfectly executed Mozambique drill. She repeated this until the magazine was spent.

Haas' mouth and eyes were wide open. Never had he seen this degree of skill, especially in a girl who was just barely a college grad.

Maia took a deep breath, then removed the pistol's magazine and set it back to condition one.

"Now," she said as she pulled off her goggles and ear muffs, "can I help you with anything?" Despite her placid voice, there was still an edge to it, like coarse-cut steel. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling pleasantly—practically glowing, but somehow it was terrifying.

Like a goldfish, Haas' mouth closed and opened a couple of times before he found his voice.

"Uh, no, actually, just happened to be by, is all. I'll be going now."

Maia frowned at the security guard as he left the range without a single look back.

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><p><em>RE: NEW GIRL<em>

_FROM: NOUELLA COOK_

_TO: GALE BERGAMA_

_I dunno, she doesn't look like David at all, though. But yeah, he does seem close to her, right? I mean, sure she's his junior assistant, but they do spend a lot of time together. Maybe he hired her to sleep with her? _

_P.S. - Have you finished reading my copy of Hearts of Steel yet?_

_P.P.S. - OMG that reminds me, I was talking to her at the smoke break area, and when I asked if she was Team Jace or Team Elek, she had no idea what I was talking about!_

_Gale Bergama_

_Associate Director, PR & Media_

_Sarif Industries_

_Nouella Cook [ncook .det] wrote:_

_Hey Gale,_

_So have you seen the new junior assistant yet? Maia Keeler? She's like some family friend of David's or something. Word is he already got a GPL implanted in her, and it's only her first week. Plus she always comes to work with Adam like he's her personal bodyguard or something! _

_I wonder if she's secretly his daughter or something and that's why he hired her? _

_Nouella_

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><p>Maia had been staring at her computer for the past couple of hours, officially off the clock for the past five, when she got the call from Sarif. By this time the building was largely empty save for pockets of researchers and the like still working on projects, and the night shift security guards making their rounds.<p>

The glass automatic doors slid open as she stepped in. "You wanted to see me, David?"

Sarif glanced up from his computer and his face instantly morphed into a wide smile. "Yes, Maia. Come on in, have a seat."

The fireplace gently sparked behind her as Maia made her way to the chair and sat down.

"I guess the fact that you're still here means you didn't go to the St. Patrick's day party at Brady's," Sarif said.

Maia stiffened. "No. I was busy." She had not really bothered to pay attention to the email she had received days earlier, cheerily informing her about the get-together that was planned for the nearby pub. She had not remembered to wear any green clothing either, which drew some good-natured chastising from fellow coworkers. For his part, Sarif was wearing a dark, muted green shirt that still qualified him as keeping with the day's spirit while still looking classy. Maia had done a double-take earlier today when she walked past a researcher wearing a screaming neon green tie.

"Hmm. Well, how about we have a drink right here? To celebrate both the day and the end of your first week on the job." Sarif poured whiskey from a crystal decanter into two glasses and brought them over.

Maia blinked. Had it really only been a week? Or was it 'already been a week'? One's sense of time was far more hazy when you had a massive gap in your waking life.

Feeling ever-conscious of courtesy, she met his extended glass with her own and heard the delicate _clink_.

Sarif took a slow sip before settling back in his chair, the leather purring. "So, how're you finding it here?"

At first there was only the sound of the ice cubes moving in Maia's glass as she swirled its contents. "I like it. It's a good company, the people are all nice and believe in what they do."

"Getting along with everyone?"

"They're fine."

"Glad to hear it," Sarif grinned, setting his glass down.

Maia wondered if it was the golden lighting in the room or something in Sarif's mannerisms that was making him come off as strangely...warm? Kind? Taking a drink, she averted her gaze from him to settle on the chess set that was on the far side of the desk.

"You like it?" Sarif asked. The exquisite chess set had a maple and briarwood board with a glassy finish and a raised frame of gold. The pieces were a gleaming white marble and jet black onyx intricately decorated with lapis lazuli and amber, respectively.

"It's beautiful," Maia said. Ever since she had first entered this office and set eyes on the set, she had admired it. "Was it a gift from someone?"

It was then that the pleasant demeanor faltered in Sarif, and his hand closed tighter around his glass. "Yeah. An old friend, kind of like a mentor to me. He gave this to me when my company had just started, and told me I should play to be better at patience and strategy, things he said I was lacking in."

When his eyes met hers, she saw them brighten. "How about you and I play?" he said archly. "I haven't played since my old opponent quit the game for good, and I could use some stimulation. We'll do this whenever we can, end of the day-you make it the last thing you do here before going home. And I promise I won't get mad if I lose."

A beat, with Maia studying her boss' face. "All right."

Sarif slid the board over so that it was centered between them. "White goes first," he said.

Maia picked up her king's pawn, the marble cool on her fingers, and moved it forward.

The fire was the only sound in the room for a few minutes before Sarif moved his bishop's pawn.

He spoke deliberately and evenly, intending for every word to resonate. "You know, I'm a bit concerned that you've been spending a lot of time at the office. Security's mentioned that you always arrive with Adam in the morning, but never leave with him. And that you're often here well past midnight."

"So are you," Maia replied, bringing a knight out into the open.

"_I'm_ the CEO of a company that has to regularly fend off enemies, Maia. _You_, you're my brand new _junior_ assistant."

She made a sound, something that was between a sigh and a scoff.

He squinted at her closely, concern filling his voice. "Have you been getting enough sleep, 'cause it sure doesn't look like you are."

It was true, dark circles were showing under Maia's eyes. She had tried to hide them with makeup, but cosmetics were not her forte.

"I'm just getting used to this new life," she said guardedly, doing her best to not sound combative, "and I figured I should know as much as I can about this company if I'm going to be an ideal assistant." She was bristling under this oddly parental lecture.

"And I appreciate it. I noticed you're especially interested in our green biotech branch. But you've got to take care of yourself too. I don't want you passing out from exhaustion or anything."

"It won't happen."

"That's what people always say."

"It's still true."

"Well I don't want people thinking I'm a slave driver either." A low sigh came from Sarif as he leaned forward. "I like you, Maia. You're smart, intuitive, so far a great employee. But for your own sake, you can't just be here 24/7. You've got your whole life ahead of you now; you should stay healthy if you want to enjoy it." He slid a black pawn forward and sat back.

Maia's shoulders lowered slowly, resigned, and she rested her hands in her lap. As Sarif's words sank in, so too did the weight of fatigue.

They both knew they were done playing for the night.

"I'll have a car take you home."

She nodded.

* * *

><p>Sarif watched from the window as the car carrying Maia drove off. The distance between the ground and the penthouse office made the sedan look as tiny as a toy.<p>

The girl was not immune to CASIE, that much was certain, though for a second there he had been worried that his play on the paternal angle would not work on her. She did not completely trust him yet, but he could easily work on that with what he had gathered about her.

Sarif stared at the chessboard, and a smile crept over his face. He had not anticipated getting into a game, but now he was looking forward to it. At the very least, he could be sure that Maia would be a much more pleasant opponent than Zhao ever was.

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><p><strong>HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY GUYS. Finally, chapter 11! :O Yes, it took way too long, but as I had previously mentioned, my life got in the way. -_-<strong>

**Many thanks to Satatchi and FloridaMagpie for their words of support. It means a lot. :)**

**Truth be told, I don't know how to feel about this chapter any more simply because I've worked on it too long. Lots of picking apart, rearranging story segments, adding and subtracting, and SO. MUCH. REWRITING. So the end result might be kind of a mess, but at this point I think I just need to put an end to it and press forward. **

**I had the idea of inserting random emails ever since I first started planning the story, and I hope you enjoy reading that, though I understand if they make the chapter disjointed or weird overall. I just thought it'd be a fun way of showing what goes on in the SI office. I went to the trouble of looking up the names of the office employees, which was pretty time-consuming. :p**

**I should note, that the emails' formats are all kind of messed up here because FF has issues with certain symbols. :(**

**See if you can spot the _Ghost in the Shell_ homage! (It's pretty obvious :p) Also, there's a reference to William Gibson's _Idoru_ as well.**

**I am aware that you can save both Kavanagh and the prisoners in _The Missing Link_. Realistically though, I felt it's highly unlikely that Adam would know where the gas tanks were considering how hidden they are, so in this story, he only saved Kavanagh.**

**The Hadaly dolls are obviously taken from the famous RealDolls. Provided you're over 18, check out their site-it's rather impressive how detailed they go with customization of the dolls. Hadaly, you can Google to find out more.**

**As far as I know, there is no third character mentioned in the _Hearts of Steel_ book series, but considering "Jace" is the name of one of them, I chose "Elek" as an suitable choice. We all know what the books are a parody of, yeah?**

**In the game, you can see that both Sarif and Zhao have the same Mancini chess set (available on Amazon for $1699!) in their offices. Considering they both knew Hugh Darrow, I figured it would be interesting to have it so that he had given them the chess sets as gifts, and at one point they corresponded more personally with each other before turning into enemies. The sets in the game (and real life) are gold and silver, but for my own purposes I chose to make them onyx with amber and marble with lapis lazuli.**

**I can't say with certainty when the next chapter will be up, but I will strive to make it as soon as possible. In the meantime, I welcome and appreciate every comment and review! :) So, COMMENT AND REVIEW! (plz)**


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